


The Tell-Tale Hearts (in Multiple Parts)

by crushing83



Series: Teen Wolf in Another Reality [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Cryptic Alan Deaton, Cryptic Danny Mahealani, Damaged Derek, Damaged Derek Hale, Demisexual Stiles Stilinski, Derek trying to teach Stiles how to be a werewolf, Discussion of events before the fire, Everybody tries, Gen, I may be kinder to Scott in the future but today is not that day, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Multiple Pov, POV Multiple, Protective Derek, Protective Derek Hale, Protective Stiles, Protective Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall is a Bad Friend, Season 01 AU, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Sneaky Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Gets Bitten Instead of Scott McCall, Stiles and Derek are pack, Stiles is less combative than Scott, Stiles learning how to be a werewolf, Warning: Kate Argent, ace spectrum Stiles Stilinksi, and everything the fanon sometimes implies, asexual spectrum Stiles Stilinski, ish, may become Sterek way down the road, playing fast and loose with the show's mythology, setting the stage for Danny and his family to play a bigger role, werewolf investigations, werewolf lessons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 15:46:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18391457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crushing83/pseuds/crushing83
Summary: Stiles and Derek continue their investigation into the identity of the rogue alpha. Meanwhile, Scott tries to make amends with Stiles, Deaton and Danny freak out Stiles with their weird, vague (but eerily accurate) comments, and John tries to figure out what is happening in Beacon Hills (and how his son and houseguest are involved)."Ohmigosh, sandwiches, amazing---"Derek took a moment to puzzle over how distracted he'd been to not hear the jeep pulling into the driveway, and that moment allowed him to process the smells coming off of Stiles.Stress, old fear, new excitement, sweat,Kate, an unknown male with expensive taste in cologne, and…Lydia?"I'm fine, just late, and gross… and don't smell me!" Stiles exclaimed. "I'm gonna go shower all this yuck off and then I'm coming down and devouring these sandwiches. So save all of them for me!"In a flash, Stiles was gone again."Hurricane Stilinski," John commented.Derek snorted. "Pretty much."





	The Tell-Tale Hearts (in Multiple Parts)

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is a little longer than I'd hoped it would be, but it's straddling events from "The Tell" and "Heart Monitor." I hope you enjoy it!

With bags of food in one hand and a tray of drinks in the other, Stiles jogged across the parking lot to where John's patrol vehicle was idling. He struggled to balance the drinks on his arm, freeing one hand to open his door, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he was able to get inside the car without spilling any of the tasty cargo he'd carried. 

"Ta da!" Stiles exclaimed. "Diner deliciousness, delivered straight to your car!" 

"Great service," John agreed, smiling. 

"So. What's all this about?" Stiles asked. "Getting me out of the house, plying me with food… willingly ordering a grilled chicken sandwich---" 

"Who taught you to be that suspicious?" 

"You did," Stiles replied with a grin. 

John chuckled. "Well, I guess I only have myself to blame, then." 

"Yeah. So…?" 

Stiles watched as most of his father's good humour leached away into an expression of seriousness. He braced himself for whatever conversation they were about to have; surely, if John had that expression on his face, Stiles wasn't going to enjoy their talk. 

"Don't get like that," John said. "It's not… you're not in trouble." 

"You sure?" 

"Yes! I'm actually proud of you and how you handled the situation," John said. When Stiles arched an eyebrow, John said, "I may have heard some of your conversation last night. With Derek." 

It felt like Stiles' heart stopped beating. Then, as the reality of John's words settled in Stiles' head, his heart seemed to speed to a beating pace that had to be impossible to maintain---even for a werewolf. 

John heard them talking, about Kate, about what happened to Derek and his family. 

_Oh, shiiiit._

"You heard us talking?" Stiles asked. 

John nodded. He pressed his lips into a solemn line. 

Stiles swallowed. Then, he said, "Dad, I can exp---"

"I don't need you to explain, I'm a somewhat bright guy and I can put the pieces together," John interrupted. "At the time of the fire, I thought something fishy was going on, but there'd been no evidence of it. A gut feeling against evidence? Can't exactly argue with that, y'know? But hearing Derek talk about what happened, and hearing you talk about others who'd been hurt… sounds like there's more to the fire than there appeared to be after the investigation." 

At no point did John say the word "werewolf." Stiles relaxed; John hadn't heard everything, then. 

"Dad…" 

"Are you in trouble?" John asked. "Is that why Derek opened up to you?" 

Stiles shook his head. "No, I think he just… he's been carrying that around for so long. We've been hanging out a bit, since you invited him to stay---" 

John snorted. "I was just doing what you hoped I'd do, though, wasn't I?" 

With a little shrug, Stiles admitted, "Maybe. I… knew he was in trouble. A bit. He helped me out of a _very_ small jam, and I wanted to pay him back." 

Nodding, John said, "It was a good thing to do. He shouldn't be staying up there, in that burnt out shell of a house, with all that guilt and grief on his shoulders." 

Stiles tried to wait. There had to be more John wanted to say. 

Instead of talking, though, John paused and sipped his soda. Stiles' nervousness increased in intensity. 

"I can't tell you everything," Stiles burst out into the silence. "It's not my place---" 

"I know," John interrupted. "But---" 

"There's always a 'but,'" Stiles muttered.

"Yes, there is," John agreed. "In this case, it's to remind you that these are crimes that were committed. Against the Hales---and others. And the people responsible need to be arrested. If you have proof of these crimes, you need to tell me." 

"I… right now, it's just some coincidental timing combined with Derek's story," Stiles said. 

"Nothing concrete yet?" John asked. 

Stiles shook his head. 

"I want you to stop investigating," John said. _"But,_ I know you won't, so promise me you aren't going to go questioning people. All right? You keep your investigation confined to your laptop and Googly searches." 

Stiles chuckled. "You said that on purpose." 

"Yep. Just to bug ya." 

"I promise not to go question any suspects," Stiles said. 

"Do you have any suspects yet?" John asked. "This Kate person?" 

"I… maybe?" 

"Give me her last name." 

"Nope." 

John glared across the vehicle. "Stiles…" 

"No, Dad," Stiles insisted, his heart leaping into his throat and strangling his voice. "She's terrifying. Super dangerous. By reputation alone. And I am not giving you her full name until I have something _real,_ because you are not bringing her in and going fishing and getting yourself killed over speculation." 

John frowned. "You're serious. You know who she is and if she's that terrifying---"

"Dad, I can't risk anything happening to you," Stiles interrupted. 

After a long sigh, John said, "Son, this is my job. You are admitting to withholding information---" 

"If I give you her full name, and you investigate her, and she finds out you're trying to pin the fire on her? She might kill you for fun. Well, to stop you and for fun," Stiles said, interrupting John again. 

"And what if this person finds out you're investigating her and she kills you?" John asked. 

Stiles blinked. He hadn't considered that because he was too worried she'd kill him once she found out he was the second beta werewolf in town. 

"Stiles… I need you to tell me her name," John said. "Having a name doesn't mean I'm going to run to her house and arrest her. I don't have a lick of proof against this person. I know cases take time to build—especially when they've been cold for so long. But, having her name? That gives me a direction to start. That gives me someone to watch out for." 

Stiles frowned and looked down at his lap. He had to admit, he didn't like the idea of John not knowing it was Kate Argent who was dangerous. But, he was terrified John would approach her and somehow tip her off to his suspicions---and what she would do to evade detection. He desperately wished for a do-over on their entire conversation. 

"Will you promise me something?" Stiles asked. 

"Yes. If it's not illegal." 

Stiles managed a weak smile at that, but he still couldn't look at John. 

"Because I can't lose you, Dad," Stiles said. "I know you're tough. I know you're armed. But---" 

"Stiles. I know. Every day I do my absolute best to come home in one piece, and that's for you." 

Stiles swallowed hard and nodded. "Yeah. I know. I… um… look. If I give you her name, will you promise not even look at her sideways? She can't know we know. Even if we can't prove it." 

"Can I look at her sideways if she jaywalks?" 

"Only the amount that's proportionally appropriate for that sort of infraction," Stiles replied. When John chuckled, Stiles looked up. "Dad, I'm serious. I know you think you're crafty---and you are---but she's a whole other level. On both of us." 

For a long minute, John studied Stiles with a more serious expression on his face. Then, he nodded. "All right. I promise," he said. "Unless I have solid evidence she committed a crime, I will not glance her way when I see her at the grocery store." 

Stiles looked down again and closed his eyes. Against his better judgement, he said, "It's Kate Argent." 

"Argent?!" 

Stiles nodded his head once. 

"Is the family involved?" John asked. "Derek said something that made it sound like they and the Hales didn't get along." 

Stiles snorted as he looked up at John. He said, "That's putting it mildly. As far as I know, it's just… a grudge. But Kate…" 

"Took it to another level." 

"Yeah," Stiles agreed. 

John sighed. "I want to talk to Derek. Not necessarily on the record. Yet," he said. "For now, I just want him to know I'll quietly reopen the case, and… well, I want to send him to someone. A therapist. While he's under our roof, I want him to be safe in all senses of the word." 

The idea of Derek willingly going to a therapist almost made Stiles burst out laughing. He couldn't deny that it was a good idea; Derek needed some sort of help to process everything, but there was no way a normal therapist could help him with all the ghosts in his past. 

"Hey, you wanna get the Eyebrows of McDoom aimed in your direction, go ahead and suggest that to him," Stiles said. 

John rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I know. It won't be something he'll jump on right away," he said. "But, he's dealing with things that are beyond our capabilities." 

"You're not going to kick him out, right?" Stiles asked. 

"Why would I do that?" 

Stiles frowned. "Just… if you think he's trouble…" 

"I wouldn't do that," John said. "Especially now that I understand some of what's going on. Guess he was hiding at his family's house to find out what happened to Laura without being seen by any of the Argents?" 

"I think so, yeah," Stiles said. 

"And is Scott hanging out with Allison why you two aren't as close?" 

Stiles scowled. "No. Not… well. He kind of turned love-dumb, y'know? And I'm thrilled for him, because he's a good guy and she seems way out of his league in a good way," he explained. "But he basically forgets I exist---until Allison's busy. When that happens, he just expects me to be available. So he can talk about how amazing she is. And then, I found out he was following me around and trying to get Derek arrested. I found out about Kate around then." 

"When are you going to forgive him?" John asked. 

"I don't know." 

John nodded. "And are you going to tell him Derek's staying with us?" 

"No." 

"Why?"

"Because he could tell Allison, who could tell Kate," Stiles replied. He shrugged. "I know Scott's my best friend, but… there's too much on the line."

"Understandable." 

"I do miss Scott," Stiles admitted. 

"I know. I have faith you two will work it out," John said. "Things might not go back to the way they were before, but that doesn't mean you can't find a new normal. And, if things change too much, there's no crime in that. People are allowed to change---and it doesn't devalue what came before, or what might come after." 

"Thanks, Dad," Stiles murmured. 

"You're welcome. Now. Give me my grilled chicken whatever," John insisted. 

Stiles smiled more and passed over the bag with his father's sandwich. Once that was out of his lap, he reached into his own bag and found his burger and fries. He stuffed a handful of fries in his mouth and unwrapped his burger as he chewed.

John looked into his bag. "Hmm… did they forget my curly fries?" he asked. 

"You're not supposed to eat curly fries---especially the curly ones," Stiles replied. 

"Well, I'm carrying a lethal weapon," John said. "If I want the curly fries, I will have the curly fries." 

Stiles rolled his eyes. These sorts of conversations were much easier to navigate than the one they just had. They carried _significantly_ less guilt and fear with them. 

"If you think getting rid of contractions in all your sentences makes your argument any more legitimate, you are wrong," Stiles argued. 

John punctuated his unamused gaze with a big bite of his sandwich. Stiles chuckled as he reached for his drink; he had a teasing comment on the tip of his tongue, but their conversation left his mouth too dry to lob a quip in his father's direction. 

Before he could say anything, though, the radio crackled. 

_"Unit One, do you copy?"_

Stiles reached for the handset. As his fingers closed around the small device, John's hand slapped down onto the back of his in one, firm strike. 

"Sorry," Stiles mumbled. 

John snorted and plucked the handset off its base. "Unit One, copy," he said with the device in his hand and at his mouth. 

_"Got a report of a possible one-eighty-seven,"_ the dispatcher said over the radio. 

Stiles blinked. "A murder?" 

John shot him a stern glare as he told the dispatch agent he was available it check out the scene; he turned his attention away from Stiles and nodded as the agent on the radio gave him the address. 

As Stiles watched his father put down his supper and start backing out of the parking space, he had a sinking feeling that the murder could be related to Monster Mayhem. That feeling was confirmed when his phone buzzed with a text from Derek: _MM was at Video2C. Clerk is dead. Customer was injured in the attack._

Stiles sent back a response--- _I'm with Dad. He got the call. On our way._ \---as John steered the patrol car towards the video rental place.

###

When Stiles returned home, alone, he was relieved to see that Derek was in the living room and waiting to speak with him. He had his own thoughts about the attack, and he was sure none of them were relevant, so he hoped for a more neutral perspective on what happened in the store.

"You okay?" Derek asked. 

Stiles shrugged. "Not sure yet," he admitted. "I mean, Jackson's a jerk, but he didn't deserve that." 

"He'll live," Derek said. 

"What if he 'succumbs to his wounds?'" Stiles asked. 

Derek shrugged. "It's a risk, but he's young and healthy. And his wounds didn't look like killing blows---or even seriously damaging blows---from what I saw when the paramedics brought him out."

"Oh, so Monster Mayhem just wanted to rough him up a bit?" 

"Probably," Derek replied. 

Stiles sighed. "Will he change?" 

"If the scratches are deep enough… there's a chance. But it's really rare," Derek told him. 

Stiles frowned. "Well. I feel like an asshole for saying this, but I'm glad. Not that he's hurt. That it's rare for him to be turned like that," he said. "I just… I can't… I… I get enough of him during the school day, y'know?" 

Derek stared at him. Stiles stared back in response. He would have smiled, or cracked a joke about Derek never experiencing the delights of being bullied, but he'd had a tough evening and he was having a hard time finding his sense of humour. 

"What's wrong?" Derek asked. "Don't tell me it's about Jackson or his girlfriend." 

"Well. I do actually sort of like Lydia. Not like-like. Just… she's so much better than him. And smarter. But she lies to everyone and hides it, and I don't understa---" 

"Stiles." 

He stopped talking and flopped down next to Derek on the sofa. "Dad heard us talking last night," he said. When Derek tensed, he quickly added, "Not the werewolf bits. He might have heard the word 'pack,' but he didn't say anything about that. But, he did hear us talking about someone named Kate and her crimes and your history with her." 

"And?" 

"And he's probably going to approach you at some point to tell you he's reopening the case---and to suggest you see a therapist," Stiles said. 

Derek snorted. "Yes, and when I tell this therapist my teacher seduced me so she could kill my werewolf family---" 

"Yeah, I know." 

"Stiles. What does your dad know?" Derek asked. 

"I had to tell him Kate's last name," Stiles admitted. "He promised me he wouldn't walk up to her and ask for her matchbook. I believe him. I don't like lying to him… and even though it's dangerous for him to even know a bit of how dangerous she is, it was the one thing I could tell him. I tried not to, but… he made a strong case." 

"Which was?" 

"Me, dead, and him not knowing who did it." 

Derek nodded. "I get it." 

Stiles blinked up at him. "Really?" 

With another nod, Derek said, "Of course. He's your family. You consider him a part of your pack, too. Besides, I already told you that you might have to tell him something." 

"But… secrets…" 

"I know. Secrets protect us," Derek agreed. "And I don't like the idea of telling someone, believe me. But. He's your father, so I understand that it's not that simple." 

Stiles sagged in relief he hadn't known he'd been waiting to feel. He closed his eyes and inhaled a long, slow breath; as his guilt faded, Stiles felt two hands rest onto his shoulders. The feeling of _pack_ drifted through him. 

"Thank you," Stiles breathed. 

Derek's hands squeezed him gently, as if they were providing a pulse of reassurance. 

"Now," Derek said, cutting into the peace of their brief moment, "what did you find out about the dead guy?" 

Smirking, Stiles peeked up at Derek. "What makes you think I found anything out about him?" 

"I know you, and I know you wouldn't have willingly left without something to work with," Derek replied, smirking back at Stiles. 

A little snort of laughter slipped out of Stiles. Derek was right; Stiles deliberately stayed until he overheard information about the victim of Monster Mayhem's attack. Even though John tried to usher him away, Stiles claimed the deputies were all busy and he could wait until someone was heading back to the station before bumming a ride away from the video store parking lot. 

Stiles readjusted his position, so both of his legs were crossed and he was completely facing Derek. Before telling him anything, Stiles pulled out his phone and ordered two extra large pizzas, one with ham and pineapple and the other with more meat than was probably healthy; he snapped his phone shut and looked at Derek. 

"I've got his name and his most recent rap sheet," Stiles admitted. "Nothing about arson in the last couple years, but he did just finish a few years in a medium-security prison for setting a series of small fires in Beacon County. Property damage only, as far as his record. His last visit to jail was for being super drunk and rowdy in public. The deputies thought he might have pissed off the wrong person and they attacked him until the coroner said it looked like another animal attack." 

Derek frowned. "So, he was probably involved in the fire." 

"He could have been," Stiles agreed. "It's really looking like someone's after anyone involved in the fire---" 

"But Laura wasn't!" Derek exclaimed. 

"No, but she was an alpha," Stiles reminded him. 

Stiles felt his heart ache as he watched Derek consider his words. They'd discussed Laura's death before, so the idea of the werewolf killing her for her power wasn't new---but it never got any easier to hear or say. Stiles wished he could do something to help Derek through his grief and pain. 

"Who is doing this?" Derek asked, his voice weak and quiet. 

"Could anyone have escaped?" Stiles asked. 

Derek shook his head. "There was mountain ash around the house… Laura and I couldn't get in until the firefighters started breaking the line." 

"Where was Peter? He survived… ish." 

Derek closed his eyes as he considered Stiles' question. When he looked back at Stiles, his eyes were a little pinched in the corners. 

"They found him in the basement," Derek said. "I don't know if he went down there or if he fell down there." 

Stiles nodded. Then, even though he knew he was going to regret asking the question for the look it would put on Derek's face, he opened his mouth and said, "You're sure he's comatose, right?" 

With a glare, Derek said, "He's not faking." 

Stiles raised his hands. "Okay, okay. Sorry. I just… if no one else got out… any distant relatives? Or omegas who were huuuge creepy fans of your pack?" 

"No fans, as far as I know. A few relatives through my dad's side of the family, but I haven't met them… ever," Derek said.

"Why not?" 

"They didn't approve of Dad joining Mom's pack and taking her name," he replied. He shrugged and sighed. "I don't like this." 

"We're going to figure it out," Stiles said. He reached out and put his hand on Derek's upper arm. "We think it has something to do with the fire. That's a starting point." 

"Maybe it has to do with one of the other incidents," Derek suggested. 

Stiles nodded. "If Kate kept busy, which we're pretty sure she did… maybe she had a team she trusted. As much as she is capable of trusting, anyway." 

"Can you find out if these guys travelled with her?"

He didn't know if he could. Google would only give him so much information. But, if he had a conversation with his father, there was a chance he could get a few more details about the deceased men's whereabouts after the Hale House burned to the ground. 

"Maybe," Stiles said. "I might have to talk to Dad."

Derek nodded but didn't say anything. He looked as if he were lost in his thoughts, and Stiles didn't want to interrupt him. To show his support, Stiles leaned in close, settling into a comfortable position against Derek's side. He inhaled deeply, smiling when his newer instincts told him he was safe and where he should be. 

His smile stretched when Derek put his arm around Stiles' shoulders, securing their positioning, and they relaxed until the delivery person brought their late night snack.

#####

When Stiles finally pulled his beat-up vehicle into his usual parking spot at the end of the last row, Scott was waiting for him.

The frosty air between them had gone on long enough. Scott was going to get his best friend back.

Stiles glared at him when he hopped out of the driver's seat, but Scott didn't let that deter him from his goal. He tugged on the hem of his sweatshirt and took a couple steps towards Stiles. 

"Hey," Scott said. 

"Hello." 

"You're okay?" Scott asked. 

Stiles frowned. "Why wouldn't I be?" 

Scott shrugged. "I dunno. I guess I'm just asking… just cuz?" 

Stiles snorted. "I'm okay. You?" 

"I… yeah. Mostly," Scott replied. He scuffed his foot against the concrete and forced himself to take a couple deep breaths before speaking again. "So, I, um… I wanna say I'm sorry." 

"For?" 

"For going behind your back," Scott said. "For thinking Hale's a killer." 

It hurt something inside of him to say that, but he knew what he had to say in order to get Stiles back in his life. He didn't trust Derek---no matter what Stiles, Deaton, and the Sheriff said---and he was never going to stop looking for evidence that he was a _bad guy._ To get his best friend back, though, he was willing to say almost anything. 

Once he found evidence and convinced Stiles of the truth, everything would be better. 

A weird expression passed over Stiles' face, before a small smile appeared there. 

"And?" 

"For… uh, for seeming like I don't trust you to be able to take care of yourself," Scott added. 

"And?" 

"For nearly getting Hale in trouble?"

"Are you asking or telling me?" Stiles asked. 

Scott huffed. "I'm trying to apologise, you dick!" he exclaimed. "Would you just---" 

"Okay," Stiles said. 

"Really?" Scott asked. 

Stiles nodded. "As long as you promise not to do it again," he stipulated. 

Scott's heart leapt excitedly in his chest. "Yes! Anything!" he agreed. "I miss you, man." 

"I miss you, too," Stiles admitted. 

"Video games after school?" Scott asked. "Your place? I'll bring snacks." 

Stiles' pleasant expression disappeared as he shook his head. "No can do, Scotty," he said. 

"Why not?" 

"Because… I need to feel like I can trust you again," Stiles said, shrugging his shoulders. "Give me some time, okay? I want you back in my life, obviously, but you were following me and snooping on my computer---" 

"But---" 

"I know why you were doing it, and I get it," Stiles continued. "It was still a violation. We can hang out at the arcade or at your place, but mine is off-limits for a little while. And if you ever follow me around again or try to get people in trouble again because you're being ridiculous, we're through. Those are my terms." 

Scott _hated_ that Stiles was putting terms and conditions on their reunion, but he knew it was the first step to getting Stiles back in his life. He had to agree because he didn't want to lose Stiles to whatever dark influence Derek Hale introduced into his life. Once he had the evidence he needed, Stiles would believe him and appreciate that he'd gone to all that trouble to save him. 

"I accept your terms," Scott agreed. 

"Good," Stiles said before he flung himself at Scott for a very manly hug. 

His hug felt different, but Scott didn't care. Eventually, they'd be back to normal.

#####

Scott lied.

 _Scott lied._

He might have said the words, but he did so with a telling skip in his pulse, so Stiles knew his apology didn't mean what Scott wanted Stiles to believe it meant. 

Allison was so happy when she joined him in calculus, nearly glowing because her boyfriend and his best friend were making reparations to their friendship (and because her boyfriend was oh-so-thrilled at the idea), and Stiles was forced to play along because he couldn't tell Allison that he knew Scott wasn't going to stop trying to interfere in Stiles' life by following him and persisting to look for evidence that Derek is a bad guy. 

Lunch was next, and the last thing he wanted to do was sit next to them and pretend to revel in their joyful reunion. He wanted the peace and quiet of being in Derek's company; he wanted the safety and security of his pack. He wanted _honesty._

Why couldn't Scott trust him? 

Well, Stiles supposed that lying to him ever since he returned from his misadventures in the forest was probably an influencing factor in the lack of trust. Even if Scott wasn't consciously aware that Stiles was lying to him, something of his lies probably registered as a problem in Scott's mind. He had some sense that something was wrong, and it all happened around the time they encountered Derek in the woods; Stiles could admit that it made sense that Scott had put those pieces together, even subconsciously. 

Scott's dishonesty was his fault---at least, it was partly his fault. 

His heart clenched in his chest as he thought about lying to the other person he considered family. Scott wouldn't understand and Scott was _waaay_ too tied to the Argents for Stiles to consider admitting everything to him. Stiles knew he had to maintain his lies, as much or as little as they would help his present situation; but he also knew he couldn't sit with Scott for lunch and pretend he was as thrilled as everyone else in their small social circle. 

He needed time to fix his masks. He needed to be ready to act. Two classes and a couple breaks weren't enough time for him to prepare. 

When he saw Erica heading towards the library, he made a quick decision. He hurried after her, slowing his pace only when he was at her side, and then he flashed her a grin. 

"Please tell me you're heading to the library for lunch and are dying for some company," Stiles said. 

"Don't you usually have friends to sit with?" 

"Uh, sort of? But I'm in the mood for some company that isn't…" 

"Making lovey-dovey faces all over the place?" Erica suggested. 

Stiles' grin returned. "For starters, yeah," he said. "Please? I promise not to talk toooo much." 

Erica snorted. "I'll believe that when I see it." 

Few people took advantage of the library at lunch. They weren't _supposed_ to eat there, but with the library monitor usually pulled to the cafeteria during the lunch periods it was usually fine as long as no one smeared or spilled food on any of the books. 

They made their way inside the library and chose a table in the back of the room, behind a long line of bookshelves. There was another student at the table when they arrived. It took Stiles a few seconds to remember his name, but when he did, he decided that the taller, broader guy probably (hopefully) wouldn't mind them joining him. 

"Hey, uh… it's Vernon, right?" Stiles asked. 

"I prefer Boyd," he replied, without looking up from his book and sandwich. 

"Right! Yes. Okay. I guess I'm not starting on the best foot here, then, but---" 

"Can we sit with you?" Erica asked. "I hate the cafeteria and Stiles is avoiding a rom-com." 

At her words, Boyd looked up at them. He moved his dark eyes from Stiles to Erica, and then he gave her a slow nod. 

"Thanks!" Erica exclaimed. "I'm---" 

"Erica, right?" Boyd interrupted. "We had art together last year." 

Erica smiled as she chose her seat. "Yeah, that's right, we did," she said. 

As Stiles sat down next to Erica, he caught sight of a faint blush on her cheeks. He smiled as he rummaged in his backpack for his lunch, and he managed to squash the expression by the time he pulled his pita bread and olives out to be devoured. 

"You like olives, huh?" Boyd asked. 

Stiles snorted. Derek had bought some a few days ago, and Stiles had immediately started teasing him for liking gross food. When Derek managed to get Stiles to confess that he'd never tried them before, he dared Stiles to eat one. 

He'd whined and protested and did everything he could to try to get out of it… 

But, Derek popped one into his mouth---and Stiles actually liked the taste! 

Stiles had to keep the fridge stocked with olives ever since that moment, because they were eating them way too frequently to be considered normal. Even John had noticed their strange snack habits, although he wasn't complaining because they weren't eating traditional junk food. 

"It's a new thing," Stiles admitted. "We're still in the honeymoon phase. You want one?" 

"I like olives," Boyd admitted. He reached forward with a hand that was larger than Stiles' head---seriously, what made Boyd grow so much, so quickly?!---and plucked one of the seasoned, dark olives out of Stiles' container. After putting it into his mouth, he smiled and chewed. He swallowed and said, "Thanks." 

"No prob," Stiles replied. "Erica?" 

She shook her head. "Nah… they're a little too oily for me." 

Stiles nodded and continued to eat his lunch. It wasn't nearly enough calories for a full meal; he knew enough about his altered metabolism to know he could easily eat three lunches. But, he also knew that he could have a couple sandwiches if he hurried home after lacrosse practice and that would tide him over until supper. 

He fell uncharacteristically silent as Erica and Boyd bonded over their shared art class and other, more recent, events at the school. When they invited him into their conversation, he participated, but he was enjoying the peace and quiet before chemistry and Scott and Mister Harris.

#####

When Stiles sat down next to him, instead of next to one of the weirdos in the back, Scott grinned and offered his fist for a quick bump. His insides warmed when Stiles smiled back at him and bumped his fist against Scott's knuckles.

"Where were you at lunch, man?" Scott asked. "We missed you." 

As Stiles pulled his chemistry textbook and scribbler out of his bag, he said, "I had to go to the library and do a bit of work while my brain was still focused. After practice, I'll probably be too tired." 

"You wanna hang out after?" 

"I think I'm just gonna go home," Stiles said. "I can give you a ride, though. We can stuff your bike in the back. Save you from pedalling on noodle legs." 

Scott nudged Stiles' shoulder with his own. "Thanks, Stiles. That would be great." 

Mister Harris came in with a delighted smile on his face---which meant nothing but pain and suffering for most of the class. When he paused at Jackson's desk, putting his hand on his shoulder and murmuring something that made Jackson nod, Scott wondered what he said. He heard a huff that meant Stiles was rolling his eyes and he wondered what Stiles knew that he didn't. 

When Stiles leaned off to the side and asked Danny a couple whispered questions—"Did Jackson tell you anything about last night?" and "Was Lydia in homeroom today?"—and received two headshakes for his answers, Scott looked at him and raised an eyebrow. 

_They were attacked by that animal at the video store_ Stiles explained, by writing a quick note on a blank page in his notebook. 

Scott nodded. It was weird, whatever was happening with the wild animal. He didn't understand. Allison had said her father and her aunt were out looking for it, and he knew the Sheriff had his deputies and Animal Control looking for it, too. Deaton had a map with all the attacks marked by pushpins. Even Stiles had had news articles about animal attacks in his browser history, the last time he'd used Stiles' laptop. Everyone seemed concerned about this animal. He understood that whatever it was was attacking people and that was _bad_ , but he didn't understand why so many people were looking for it. It seemed like a job for Animal Control or whatever government group oversaw forests and their inhabitants. And yet, more than the appropriate people were involved in trying to find it. 

Stiles scribbled another note on the page between them. _I'm surprised he's here today. He was hurt._

_Doesn't wanna show weakness_ Scott wrote back. 

Stiles snorted and nodded. 

Mister Harris started teaching, talking about balancing equations of some different nature, and Scott tried to focus. Where Stiles was taking notes and drawing diagrams, Scott was left trying to make sense of what Harris was writing on the board. He _hated_ chemistry, but he tried to stick with it because Deaton mentioned it was necessary to becoming a veterinarian---and so far, that was the only career he was interested in pursuing. 

When Harris seemed distracted, Scott pulled out his phone and sent a text--- _I think I'm going to need some chemistry tutoring this weekend ;)_ \---to Allison. 

Her response came while he was halfway through the worksheet Mister Harris passed out to each student. When he read _I'm supposed to go to a shooting range with Kate on Saturday. Maybe you can come and we'll teach you how to use a bow and arrow instead of protons and electrons :)_ he smiled and decided to ask Stiles for help with their work, instead, so he could actually learn the lesson. 

Stiles was difficult to pin down, though. As they made their way to the last class of the day, Scott tried to get him to commit to a studying (or tutoring) session on Sunday, but Stiles said he might have plans. 

"It won't take that long," Scott insisted. "I could come over and we could finish these sheets, and then you could go wherever you have to go." 

Stiles smiled a bit. "Scotty, chemistry takes longer when I have to explain everything first. Plus, I might not be home. Lemme get back to you, okay? If I'm around, I'll set aside a big chunk of time to go over to your place and we'll bake cookies and break down the bad equations at the same time." 

At the memory Stiles evoked, one of them messing around in the kitchen as they made cookies and tried to do their math homework, Scott smiled. 

His plan was going to work. He was going to get Stiles back---he just had to be patient.

#####

Stiles tugged at his sweaty t-shirt as he made his way across the parking lot to his vehicle. He'd used lacrosse practice as a way to vent some of his Scott-shaped frustrations, and all he'd gotten in return was a bad mood, control issues, and some grief from Coach Finstock for not playing that decently (Coach's word, not Stiles' word) every time he was on the field.

He and Scott had made plans. They were minor plans, just a ride home, but they were still plans. Instead of following through on those plans, Scott ditched him (and the rest of the school day), to spend the rest of the school day with Allison. 

Stiles wished he felt more surprised. 

As he relaxed and started paying attention to his surroundings, beyond his exertion and anger, he scented wolfsbane and heard Kate Argent's voice. Relaxation was replaced by tension; he managed to keep moving, acting like nothing was wrong, but his instincts were screaming at him to hide. Kate seemed to be on the phone and she wasn't near him. He knew it could be an act but he was also closer to his jeep than he was to her. Unless she was willing to shoot him in a public place, he probably had enough time to get away from her. 

_"No, Chris, I've got nothing. Twice,"_ Kate said into her phone. _"He wasn't at the house so I couldn't ask him---nicely or not-nicely, so don't worry about it. And Allison isn't here. Are you sure she said she was staying to watch Scott play lacrosse?"_

Stiles reined in his snort and loaded his gear and book bag into the back of his vehicle. 

_"Practice seems to be done… I'll ask someone if Scott and Allison are here,"_ she said. 

Not wanting to be the one Kate approached, Stiles fished his keys out of his bag and slammed the jeep door closed. He hurried as much as he could (and still look normal) towards the driver's side door; he fought the urge to flee as he heard footsteps approaching him. 

"Hey, Cutie." 

Stiles swallowed back whatever reaction was going to win out---and really, it was a toss-up between growling, puking, and running---as he turned to face Kate. 

"Who, me?" Stiles asked. 

Kate grinned. "Of course," she purred. Since she was close enough to touch him, when she reached out a hand, it caught on the collar of his shirt. "Looks like you had a tough workout." 

The urge to vomit was getting stronger. 

"Lacrosse. Tough practice," Stiles said. He hated that he took a step back, and he _really hated_ that she followed him. "Can I help you with something?" 

After a nod, Kate said, "Yeah, actually. I'm looking for my niece and her boyfriend." 

"Okay…" 

"Do you know them, Cutie?" 

Stiles frowned. If he didn't know who Kate was, how would he know who was her niece? 

"Maybe, maybe not," Stiles replied, carefully pulling his shirt free of her grip. "You haven't exactly given me their names and, as familiar as you're acting with me, I have no idea who you are." 

"You want to get to know me?" 

"No, thanks," Stiles said. He moved to turn, to open his vehicle's door, but she stopped him from achieving his goal. 

"Oh, Cutie," she said on a sigh. "Everyone needs friends." 

Stiles wanted out of there so badly. He wanted to go home, he wanted a shower, and he really wanted to spend some time with either member of his pack. 

A few seconds after Stiles heard and scented Danny coming out of the school, Kate put a bit of distance between them. Stiles exhaled slowly. He'd never been so happy to see Danny in all of his very short life as he was in that moment; it was amazing he didn't start cheering and dancing when Danny cleared the corner of the school that blocked the view of the gym entrance. 

"Hey, Stiles," Danny called out, waving in a friendly way as he approached them. "Everything okay?" 

Stiles nodded. "Uh, yeah. She was just asking me if I'd seen…" 

"Allison and Scott," Kate supplied, smiling a deceptively sweet smile in Danny's direction. 

Before speaking, Danny went straight to Stiles' side and put an arm around his shoulders. "Yeah, we know them," Danny said. He gave Stiles' shoulder a little squeeze---which was weird---and he smiled at Kate. "Scott skipped practice today. Allison must've been with him because she wasn't in the stands." 

Kate's smile dimmed. "All right. Thanks, boys," she purred. "I might have to come check out a game if all the players look like you two." 

Stiles managed to hold in his full-body shudder until Kate turned and started walking towards her vehicle. In response, Danny gave his shoulder another squeeze. 

"Thanks, Danny," Stiles said as he eased out of Danny's grasp. "You saved me big time. I owe you… well. If there is anything I have that you want, I'd hand it over without complaint." 

Danny chuckled. "Don't worry about it. I'm happy I could help." 

"You're a very good white knight," Stiles commented. 

Danny's eyes tracked Kate's car as it made its way out of the parking lot. His expression darkened. When he turned back to Stiles, he wasn't smiling but he wasn't glowering, either. 

"You need to be careful," Danny advised. "She… is not a good person." 

"Understatement," Stiles agreed. 

Danny frowned. "Seriously, Stiles." 

There was something in his tone, and in his eyes, that suggested Danny was trying to tell him something important. While they'd been in the same classes for years, they weren't close and didn't have a shorthand style to help with their conversations. He couldn't read Danny's body language beyond his scent and his pulse, and both of those suggested Danny was calm and steady. 

Stiles swallowed and nodded. "I know she's bad news times one hundred," he said. "And thank you. For the rescue and for the advice. I fully plan on avoiding her as much as I can." 

After studying him for a moment, Danny nodded, too. "Good," he said. Then, with a sudden smile, he added, "Go home and shower. You reek." 

Stiles huffed out a laugh as he gently shoved Danny in response.

#####

Derek looked up from his book when the front door opened. It was too early for Stiles, so it had to be the Sheriff.

He listened as John made his way through the house, his booted feet carrying him in the direction of the guest bedroom. The time to talk was finally upon him, Derek supposed, and he set aside his book as John appeared in the doorway. 

"Hello, sir," Derek said. "There are sandwiches in the---" 

"You know you don't have to cook for us, right?" John interrupted. "We aren't kicking you out until you're set up safely in town. No matter what." 

Derek had a hard time believing John would just let a near stranger live with him and his son, but every day he was proved wrong. It was a lot to wrap his head around, the idea of having a safe place to regroup; it would take some adjustment before he accepted what was happening as real. 

"Thank you, sir," he said. "I'll try to get things figured out soon." 

"That's actually what I want to talk to you about, if you have a couple minutes?" 

Derek nodded. "Of course," he replied. 

"Kitchen?" John asked. 

With another nod, Derek eased off of the bed and followed John into the kitchen. He pulled the sandwiches he'd made---mostly for Stiles when he came home from lacrosse, because he knew Stiles was going to need a pre-supper meal, but he could put more together if he and John ate more than one each---from the fridge, and he set them down on the table. John smiled and shook his head, as if he were amused, but he still went to the cupboard and pulled down a couple glasses. 

They settled down with glasses of milk, for Derek, and juice, for John, and they didn't say anything at first. Derek knew where their conversation would go and he wasn't looking to accelerate its progress. It was hard enough talking to Stiles about his past; he didn't want to do it with John, even if he knew it was necessary. 

"So, I… I overheard some things, and I talked to Stiles," John said. 

Derek tilted his head. John chuckled, but it was a nervous sound that matched the way his pulse skipped up to a faster pace. He watched the man who had taken him in, the man who loved Stiles and cared about Derek---a near stranger---enough to try to help him, and he was struck with the impulse to make their conversation a little easier for John. 

"Stiles told me," Derek admitted. "I know you weren't _spying_ , and I know you're doing your job." 

John snorted. "Yeah, that's not the point I want to make here, but yes, all right," he said. He leaned forward, curling his hands around his glass of juice. "Are you okay, Derek? I mean, really." 

"I… mostly. Maybe." 

John remained silent, watching Derek. He was so reminded of his own parents, the patient way they would study their children, that he felt his heart tighten in his chest at the memory and at the moment unfolding around him. 

"I miss them all," Derek confessed. "I thought… Laura… I… I thought we'd survive, together. Even though it was my fault. And for longer than we did." 

John's expression softened at that admission. "It wasn't your fault, son," he said, his voice serious and warm and _so_ much like Talia's was after Paige that Derek didn't know how to respond or react. 

"Intellectually, I'm sure you know that," John continued, as if he were unaware of Derek's inner turmoil, "but it's going to take time to let that really sink in. We all carry things with us---things we don't need to carry. Even me. I look at Stiles sometimes, and I remember how I handled Claudia's death, and---" 

"Sir, you don't need to---" 

"There are days when I still don't know how Stiles has forgiven me for what I'd said and done when I was grieving," John said. "But, he has. And we were able to build a stronger relationship---probably on some of our pain, but it's turned into something better than that now." 

Derek shifted in his chair. He felt an impulse to tell John _everything_ , and it was only the knowledge that doing that without Stiles' approval would lead to a fight with his only packmate that kept his mouth shut. 

"I went to therapy for a year after I started getting my act back together," John said. "Stiles doesn't know. Somehow, I was able to keep it from him." 

"Really?" Derek asked. 

John snorted. "Well, as far as I know, he isn't aware," he added. "That kid is crafty. Sneaky. With a curious mind. It's a dangerous combination." 

Derek's lips curled into a small smile. "I've seen some of that mind at work," he said. "Stiles… put together a lot without me giving him any details." 

"About Kate?" 

His smile faded before he nodded. "And other things. About Laura. And me." 

"When he decides to adopt you, you're never prepared for that," John said. "He cares so much he looks past privacy and social conventions and just… dives in. I don't think he and Scott have kept secrets from each other until now." 

"I didn't want---" 

John raised one of his hands. "No, no, I know. Stiles isn't on the outs with Scott _because_ of you," he interrupted. "The timing's more coincidental than anything else. Stiles has never really been interested in dating, and Scott's new girlfriend is causing them some growing pains. The fact that Allison is Kate's niece is probably complicating matters, but I know they'll work it out if they value their friendship." 

Derek wasn't sure what he should say about that, so he nodded and put a piece of a sandwich on the napkin in front of him. 

"I'm assuming you told Stiles because of Allison, in part," John said. 

Derek lifted his gaze, meeting the Sheriff's keen eyes. "I… in part, yes," he admitted. "I wasn't sure… I mean… I want Stiles to be safe. He's done a lot for me, like trying to protect me from you, and he's been… kind of like a younger sibling, in some ways." 

There was no way to accurately describe _pack_ to John so that he understood all that Stiles was becoming for him. To portray his feelings as those a mundane person would have for a sibling seemed to be the easiest---and safest---way to express that Stiles was important to him. 

When John didn't say anything, Derek felt his own pulse tick up in speed. "I… I'm not… like _her_ ," he said. "I don't---I'm not… I wouldn't. Ever. I mean, Stiles---" 

John snorted and nodded. "You know, while there are patterns or studies that say abusers were abused, the opposite isn't a fact set in stone," he said. "It's not a guarantee or some predetermined factor. And I've never suspected you of that. If I did…" 

"I'd be in jail. Or… not in your home." 

After another nod, John said, "Exactly." 

Derek relaxed a bit. Apart from the supernatural side of things, John seemed to have a steady grasp on the situation and on all the pieces of the puzzle that he could see. He wasn't a reactionary sort of person; he liked evidence and thinking through situations. Derek knew all of that, but it took seeing it again to remind him that he wasn't in danger. 

"Derek, I'd like to help you," John said, as he picked up his own half of a sandwich. 

It sounded like they were coming around to their discussion of therapy. Derek remained relaxed, but part of his mind still braced itself. 

"I am not used to accepting help," he admitted. 

John looked up from his sandwich. "You've accepted Stiles' help." 

"Sir, I don't know if you've noticed, but Stiles… doesn't necessarily give you a chance to decide if you'd like to accept his help," Derek said. 

After a chuckle, John nodded. "That's accurate," he agreed. "I'm still trying to figure out how to choose what we get to eat for supper---and I'm the dad." 

Derek frowned. An apology was on the tip of his tongue, but John raised his free hand and continued talking. 

"No, no, don't you worry about that," John said. "I have a sense you want to feel useful while you're here, and the meals you've cooked have been wonderful. If, at any time, you want to stop cooking, you are free to do so. You don't have to pay us back in any way, son.

"I just meant, that for as long as we've been on our own, Stiles has taken it upon himself to try to keep me from eating anything that could be considered unhealthy," John explained. "I haven't been able to eat fries---without feeling guilt---for years. And I'd love to look at a rare steak without him thinking that I'm committing an act of self-harm." 

Derek smiled a bit. "There are leaner, different types of red meat---game, usually---that can be cooked like beef," he said. "I can look into it, see if there's a butcher around that deals in bison or venison. Ostrich, maybe." 

"Don't go to any trouble, Derek," John advised. 

"I won't. No extraordinary measures," Derek agreed. He let his smile grow in size. "I like venison, though. So, it wouldn't be any trouble. Just… sharing a favourite meal with… friends." 

John smiled back at him. "That sounds nice." 

Before he could say or do anything that would bring their conversation back to whatever therapist John was about to recommend, Derek took a bite out of his sandwich and chewed slowly. John followed his lead, taking a small bite out of his sandwich, and he washed it down with a couple mouthfuls of juice. Derek kept eating his snack; he silently prayed to deities he believed weren't real as John settled back in his chair with his glass in his hand. 

"So. Don't freak out on me, but I want to suggest something," John said. 

It took all of his control not to flinch, but Derek couldn't keep his insides from clenching. He set down the remains of his sandwich and tried to swallow; it took a few tries and a too-loud clearing of his throat to manage the task. 

"The therapist I'd gone to, I called him," John said. "I didn't make an appointment for you---I wouldn't do that---but I did ask if he'd be willing to meet with you, if you're willing to give him a try." 

"Do I have to?" Derek asked. 

He hated that he felt like a small child, whining to a parent, but that was how he felt in that moment as he looked across the table to John. 

"No, of course not," John replied. From his shirt pocket, he pulled out a cream-coloured business card. He set the rectangle on the table, between them. "You're dealing with a lot, Derek. There's no shame in asking for help in processing it." 

Derek frowned as he considered John's point. He was the last healthy Hale; he was supposed to be strong enough to deal with omegas and hunters. Showing weakness could mean an untimely death. But, he wanted to be worthy of Stiles, as a packmate, too, and he wanted to be able to show Stiles how great it could be to be a werewolf. 

Could he show Stiles the benefits of the change if he were still buried under grief and guilt? 

How could a _human_ therapist help him? Did he even deserve to be helped? 

"There are things I just can't talk about," Derek said. "I can't, sir. A psychologist would misunderstand." 

"About your family?" John asked. "About where you'd been with Laura?" 

Derek nodded. "Nothing illegal, but… for example, people hid us, to keep us safe," he explained. "I couldn't betray those confidences." 

"And your family?" 

"I don't want someone to think I'm crazy," Derek admitted. "We had traditions. Private family things." 

John smiled. "I think we're all a little crazy," he said. He gestured towards the card. "I promise you, this guy won't be shocked by anything you could tell him---" 

_Wanna bet?_ was on the tip of Derek's tongue, but he managed to swallow the comment. 

"---and he will treat you with respect." 

After John's words settled in Derek's head, rattling around with all of his other thoughts and insecurities, Derek picked up the card and looked at the information types in a crisp, sans serif font.

_Doctor Kahale Mahealani_  
MD (Psychiatry), MSc (Clinical Forensic Psychology), Dip (Hypnosis)  
Psychiatric Care, Psychotherapy, Clinical Hypnosis, Court Certified Specialist

Before he could get to the contact information and commit it to memory, he looked at John. "Can I think about it?" he asked.

John smiled and nodded. "That's all I'm asking for," he replied. "I gave him your name and he said if you call and leave a message---he's the only one in his office---he will make room in his schedule for you." 

"Thank you," Derek said, managing to keep both his positive and negative emotions out of his voice. "I appreciate you going to all this trouble." 

"Wasn't any trouble at all, son," John murmured. 

He'd opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could the front door crashed open and Stiles tumbled through it with all his gear and school stuff. John smiled at Derek---an expression Derek could return because Stiles sounded like he'd come home from war or safari or something equally epic---and stood up in time for Stiles to flail his way into the kitchen. 

"Ohmigosh, sandwiches, amazing---" 

Derek took a moment to puzzle over how distracted he'd been to not hear the jeep pulling into the driveway, and that moment allowed him to process the smells coming off of Stiles. 

Stress, old fear, new excitement, sweat, _Kate_ , an unknown male with expensive taste in cologne, and… _Lydia?_

"I'm fine, just late, and gross… and don't smell me!" Stiles exclaimed. "I'm gonna go shower all this yuck off and then I'm coming down and devouring these sandwiches. So save all of them for me!" 

In a flash, Stiles was gone again. 

"Hurricane Stilinski," John commented. 

Derek snorted. "Pretty much." 

John took his glass over to the sink and began to rinse it under a stream of warm water. When he put the glass in the drying rack, he turned back to Derek. 

"At some point, when you're ready, I'd like to talk to you about what happened," John said, his voice quiet. "Nothing on the record yet, although I'd like to do that, too, when we have more information and evidence. Just… I'd like to hear what you can tell me. So I can start to investigate, quietly." 

Derek turned his head and looked up into John's face. His expression was one of seriousness and confidence, but it also held something tender or gentle. He was _such_ a parent, in every fibre of his being, and if his colouring were any darker, he would remind Derek even more of his own parents. 

"You should be careful," Derek said. "Kate is… Satan's daughter, and that is not an over-exaggeration. She only left me alive so she could enjoy my pain." 

John's eyes softened and widened. "Derek… please trust me when I say I want to help you." 

"I do trust you," Derek said. "That's why I'm still here." 

"Then---" 

"I'll tell you what you want to know, as long as you're very careful with the information I give you," Derek continued. "Stiles would never forgive me if something happened to you because of me." 

John stepped forward and squeezed Derek's shoulder. "We're going to do this slowly, and carefully, and we're going to get her for what she's done," he said. 

Derek nodded, wanting to believe John was right.

#####

By the time Stiles returned to the kitchen, John had gone upstairs to get ready for the parent-teacher conferences that Stiles forgot were scheduled for that night, and Derek had started chopping fruits, vegetables, and cheese for a salad.

The scents of anxiety had faded from the room. 

"So Dad cornered you for some excellent Dad-ing, huh?" he asked, putting his hand on Derek's back. 

Derek nodded. "He's a good man," he said. "He reminds me of my parents in some ways." 

"Yeah?" Stiles prodded. 

"Yeah," Derek echoed. "He, uh, gave me a therapist's name, but he's leaving it up to me." 

"Is it too early to ask what you're thinking?" Stiles asked as he leaned against the counter at Derek's side. 

"Maybe. I don't know. It's not like I can go in there and tell the doctor what I am and why Kate targeted me," Derek told him. 

"Maybe this doctor's something else or in the know," Stiles said. 

"I doubt it," Derek said. "Just… let me think about it for a while, okay?" 

"Okay," Stiles agreed. 

He knew he couldn't push Derek to make a decision. He also knew there was a chance withholding information wouldn't let Derek get the help he (desperately) needed, but anything that could possibly assist Derek in lessening his guilt and grief was something to consider. 

Derek nudged him. "You wanna tell me about the smells?" 

"Oh. Uh. Well. I went to Lydia's to see how she's doing," Stiles explained. "Totally freaked out and coping with prescription drugs, in case you were wondering. She had a video of Monster Mayhem on her phone. I sent it to myself and then I deleted it off her phone." 

"Good. Thanks. And then?" 

"Our Demonic Huntress stopped me in the parking lot before I went to Lydia's to ask where Allison and Scott were," Stiles said. When Derek growled, he flinched. "Easy, big guy. Danny bailed me out when she got a little too flirty."

"Too flirt---who's Danny?" 

Stiles shrugged. "Uh, lacrosse player. Friends with Jackson and Lydia. And very cryptic." 

Derek paused in his shredding of lettuce to look over at Stiles. "What do you mean?" he asked. 

"Well, Kate was doing her 'how you doing, cutie pie' routine and creeping me the eff out by being in my personal space," Stiles said, trying to keep the details to a minimum so he could keep Derek as calm as he could. "And Danny came up and basically put his arm around me, like we're a couple or something, and then when she fiiinally left, he told me to be careful around her." 

"Really?"

With a nod, Stiles said, "I felt like he was trying to tell me something. But, I didn't know if it was you're-a-werewolf-she's-a-psychotic-hunter or just she's-a-predatory-nut-job." 

"Unless Danny's something else, too, probably just the latter," Derek commented. He turned and looked over Stiles, from top to bottom, before meeting his eyes. "Are you okay?" 

"Skeeved out, but yeah," Stiles replied. He frowned. "Well. Except. Scott lied to me today." 

"About?" 

"Respecting my privacy and your privacy. Following us around. Snooping," Stiles replied. He growled quietly. "He sat there, expecting me to accept his apology, and I had to. I mean, I couldn't tell him I could hear his heartbeat screwing around." 

Derek frowned. "I'm sorry." 

"Me, too," Stiles admitted. At Derek's raised eyebrow, he added, "This is the last thing you should be dealing with right now. Detective McCall, trying to send you to jail." 

"We know now," Derek reminded him. "We just have to be careful." 

Stiles nodded. 

"Any control issues?" Derek asked. 

With a smile, Stiles shook his head. "So far, so good," he said. "The extra senses thing is getting easier, too. Still tricky at times, but… easier. I might start hanging out in the library at lunch, to give my ears and nose a break." 

"Good," Derek murmured. He reached out and touched Stiles' shoulder, his fingers squeezing. "Any other problems?" 

"Uh… no. I think I'm good. You?" 

"I think I'm okay," Derek replied. 

The impulse to be close crept up into Stiles' brain until he couldn't ignore it any longer. He inched closer and reached out with one hand; as soon as his fingers had Derek's t-shirt in their grasp, Derek pulled Stiles into his body. They both sighed. Stiles felt relief and _pack_ and safety; he almost hummed with happiness as Derek rubbed his face against the side of Stiles' head and as all the tension from his day faded away. 

"This is better," Stiles mumbled. 

"A pack thing," Derek whispered. 

They stayed like that until John started moving from his bedroom to the stairs. By the time John walked into the kitchen, Stiles was sitting at the table and stuffing his face with one of the coldcut sandwiches Derek had left out for him. 

"Please tell me I'm gonna hear good news at this parent-teacher thing tonight," John said as he walked across the room and stopped in front of the table. 

Stiles swallowed his mouthful and said, "Depends on how you define 'good news.'"

John smiled a bit. "I define it as you getting straight A's with no behavioural issues." 

Stiles winced. He tried---he really tried---to be a good student. Between his attention span and the fact that Mister Harris was an unmitigated _asshole,_ though, it was difficult to keep his record clean. His grades were fine---better than fine, really---so he assumed he'd survive the night, but he wished John wouldn't have to hear about how disruptive he could be in class. 

"You, ah, might wanna rethink that definition," Stiles admitted. 

He hated the way John's smile disappeared. "Right. Nuff said," he muttered. He rubbed his hand over his face. "You two gonna be okay here tonight?" 

Stiles nodded. "Yep! I'm gonna do my homework and then try to introduce Derek to the Marvel Cinematic Universe." 

"You are?" Derek asked. 

"Yes, I am," Stiles said. "You probably didn't have time to stop to watch a movie, with all the looking over your shoulder and brooding and stuff, so I'm taking charge and making sure you're caught up on everything. We start tonight with Iron Man."

"Really?"

John snorted. "You two have fun, then. I'm going to stop by the station on my way back, so I might be late," he said. 

"See ya, Dad," Stiles said with a little wave. "You have fun, too." 

When John left the house, Stiles picked up the plate of remaining sandwiches and headed into the living room. Derek followed with two large bowls of salad, slathered in dressing, and he went back to the kitchen for drinks while Stiles put a movie into the DVD player. 

"Do you have homework?" Derek asked, handing Stiles a bottle of water. 

Stiles shook his head. "Nope." 

"So, Iron Man?" 

"Yep. You'll love it." 

Derek huffed. Stiles grinned. The day had sucked, but a little food and some pack time were going to turn it all around. He already felt the day's tension melting away; a manly post-meal cuddle (or lean, if Derek wasn't putting out the close contact vibes) would chase it all from his mind and muscles.

#####

After a ridiculous meeting with Adrian Harris, John made his way down the corridors of the school until he reached Coach Finstock's office.

He treated these meetings like witness accounts. They showed a perspective, but they didn't give the whole, unvarnished truth. That was especially true of Harris. He'd had a few encounters with the teacher before Stiles had ever set foot in that school, a couple interrogations and a misdemeanor that somehow got walked back to an unofficial warning once lawyers were involved had ensured Harris would never vote for John. It seemed that Harris was applying his grudge to John's son. 

_"You son demonstrates little appreciation for the subtle art of chemistry… he is a disruption and a menace during labs… he is disrespectful to me and to some of his peers… perhaps you should discuss upping his dosage with his doctor until he is more suitably subdued for school."_

John shook his head, trying to free it of his simmering frustration, and he knocked on Finstock's door. 

"C'mon in!" 

When John stepped into the room, he saw Finstock sitting at his desk, which was covered in a mess of student files. 

He smiled. "Busy night?" 

"Ah! Sheriff Stilinski! I didn't know you have a kid!" 

John held in his surprise and silently reminded himself that Bobby Finstock operated on a level that didn't necessarily correspond with reality. On any given day, there was no way to know what he knew and committed to his memory. 

"I'm here about my son, Stiles," John said. 

After Finstock gestured to the chair on the other side of his desk, John sat down and watched him rifle through his files. 

"Stiles… that's right. I thought 'Stiles' was his last name," Finstock said. 

"His last name is 'Stilinski,'" John said. 

"You named your kid 'Stiles Stilinski?'" 

John resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "No, that's just what he likes to be called," he said. 

"Oh. Well," Finstock said, nodding and accepting John's words as truth, "I like to be called 'Cupcake.' What's his first name?" 

Seeing Stiles' student file on the desk, John leaned forward and tapped where his son's name---Mieczyslaw Stilinski---was written on the tab. He almost laughed when he saw Finstock's eyebrows jump up into his hairline; he was used to that response to Stiles' first name, having seen it ever since they'd saddled him with the memory of Claudia's father, and it never failed to amuse him. 

"Wow. That's a form of child abuse," Finstock muttered. He glanced up at John. "I don't… I don't even know how to pronounce that." 

John nodded. "It was his mother's father's name," he explained. 

"Wow, you must really love your wife, huh?" 

John winced. "Yeah, I did," he said.

Luckily, Finstock seemed to understand he'd walked onto an emotional landmine. Unluckily, he didn't seem all too adept at walking off of it without causing a disturbance. 

"Well, this just became incredibly awkward," he mumbled. 

John was eager to move past the moment. He leaned forward and gestured towards Stiles' file. "Hey, what do you say we get to the conference part of this conference, Cupcake?" he asked. 

"I like your thinking," Finstock agreed, smiling and nodding. He raised his hands as he resumed speaking. "So, Stiles. Great kid. Zero ability to focus. Usually, he's causing disruptions in class---funny stuff, so I don't really care, I mean, the kid's got a zany sense of humour---but lately, he's been zoning out and focusing on… well, I don't know. He's super smart and it's clear that he never takes advantage of his talents." 

John frowned. "How do you mean?" 

Finstock tilted his head. "Well, for his final question on his last exam, he detailed the entire history of the male circumcision," he replied. 

John tried to hold in his wince, but it slipped out before he could firm up his control. "Well, I mean, uh, it does have… historical significance, right? I mean---" 

"I teach economics," Finstock interrupted. 

John ran a hand over his face. "Ah, crap," he muttered. 

"Now, it was fascinating---and a little uncomfortable---and he wrote it in a way that made me laugh, so I'm not mad about it," Finstock continued. "And the kid answered every other question in two different ways, plus the bonus questions. He aced the test---apart from that section. If he applies himself, he'll keep his grades up." 

John nodded. Then, after shifting his weight, he asked, "How's he doing in lacrosse?" 

Finstock's eyes widened. "Oh! Man! I thought he was going to be a benchwarmer this season, but the way he played today in practice has me seriously considering him moving up the roster!" he exclaimed. "Normally, his arms, legs, and mouth are out of control, so I keep him on the bench so he doesn't hurt anyone. But today, he was… like a completely different player. If it wasn't just some fluke of the universe, your boy should expect some game time this season." 

That was unusual. Positive feedback, but still unusual. John wasn't sure what he should do with that information. 

By the time he met with every other teacher Stiles had that semester, John had learned that was the case in every class but his class with Adrian Harris. Teachers usually found him odd and easily distracted, and then, over the last few weeks, they felt like he'd become a space cadet or overly hyper-focused, depending on the subject, and they all made some positive remark that John hadn't predicted they'd make. 

_"Since he's started sitting with someone other than Scott, he's been participating more in class discussions---in a relevant way."_

_"I saw him helping a couple students with their calculus homework. He was doing a great job of explaining last week's lesson on derivatives."_

_"He's taken a real interest in mythology during our class unit on_ Beowulf _."_

John's head was swimming with new pieces of the puzzle that was his son. He couldn't decide if he wanted to hug his son or interrogate him; he'd probably do both, multiple times, before the semester ended. He was proud of his son---but he was also a little worried, because he appeared to have made some sudden changes in his behaviour. The only thing that kept him from full-out parental worrying was that most of what he learned was positive. 

As he made his way out to the parking lot, he saw Scott McCall and Allison Argent both being dragged towards vehicles by their mothers. No one seemed to be hurt; they appeared to be in regular teenager trouble, so he kept moving towards his car. 

The sound of shrieks and scrambling caught his attention and held it, though. 

"A mountain lion!" someone exclaimed. 

John groaned and reached into his coat for his service weapon, secured in his shoulder holster; he hurried across the parking lot to where people were quickly clearing the area. 

"Move! Move!" John called out as he jogged around a small group of people who were standing around and watching---of all things!---and he felt a small measure of relief as they jumped to attention and headed towards their vehicle. 

He held his gun loosely but confidently, not yet prepared to fire, as he rounded the corner of a truck. He saw a glimpse of the feline---and it was an actual animal and not the ridiculous shadow he'd seem lumbering across the frame of the video store's security footage. Beacon Hills was getting weirder and weirder, he decided, and he positioned himself where it looked like the animal was heading. 

A scream and Scott's shout---of "Allison! Are you okay?"---caught his attention. He didn't think the supposed mountain lion was moving that way, but Scott sounded so worried… 

He took his eyes off of his supposed target for a moment, lost his focus for a moment, and he lost the game. 

The _thud!_ of a car backing into him sent him crashing to the ground. His jacket protected his arms and body from scraping too much into the asphalt, but the blunt force of the vehicle and the landing hurt. Dazed, he looked up at the sky as he regained his bearings. 

Someone reached under his elbows and started hauling him into a sitting position. 

"I'm okay," John insisted. "Go! Get to your veh---" 

Shots were fired, a couple people shrieked, and then a strange, chilling silence fell over the parking lot. John groaned and tried to push himself up onto his knees. 

"Easy, John," Melissa said as she approached and crouched down at his side. She looked up at the person who was still behind him. "I've got him, Sal. Thanks." 

When they were alone, Melissa smiled and brushed her fingers against his forehead. "You bump your head?" she asked. 

John shrugged and winced. "I don't think so. It's mostly my back and hip." 

She ran through a quick series of diagnostic questions and deemed him healthy enough to try to stand. Helping him every inch of the way, Melissa remained by his side and kept her hands on him for support. They managed to get him standing, leaning against the vehicle that had struck him, and then she gestured towards the crowd still gathered around what John hoped was a dead mountain lion. 

"Allison's father shot it," Melissa said. 

John groaned. "Yeah, okay. Lemme… lemme just call someone to come and handle this, and then I'll go ho---" 

"No, you will be coming with me," Melissa interrupted. When John tried to protest, because the last thing he needed was a hospital bill, she smiled, shook her head, and continued talking. "Not to the emergency room, I promise. But, come home and let me make sure you're not bleeding anywhere. We've got ice packs and bandages. I might even be convinced to make some coffee." 

While Melissa and Claudia had been barely friendly acquaintances, she'd really stepped up for John and Stiles when Claudia had gotten sick. John had come to consider her a close friend, in the last few years. She'd been the one he called when Stiles contracted the chicken pox; he'd been the one she called when she _finally_ kicked her husband, Rafe, to the curb. They'd been there for each other, parents united against and in support of their teenage sons, and John was glad she found him in the parking lot. 

"Sounds good," John agreed. "Lemme call the station and Stiles---" 

"You call the station, I'll get Scott to stop over at the house and fill Stiles in, all right?" 

John nodded. Stiles wouldn't be thrilled about Scott coming to visit, but it was better to hear not-good news in person. Stiles would worry if he couldn't see someone's face when they told him what had happened. 

They separated. Melissa hurried to Scott, presumably to fill him in and to give him his job for the evening, and John took that time to ease off of the vehicle that was helping to support him. He placed his call, telling Tara---who was on the front desk for the next couple of weeks---that he needed Animal Control to come and take a dead mountain lion back to the veterinary clinic. It wasn't standard practice to conduct a necropsy, but John wanted it done. He wanted confirmation that the feline was their killer; he wanted to find out if the animal was sick or injured in some way to explain their behaviour. Tara seemed to understand and she promised him that she would take care of everything while he looked after himself. 

By the time Melissa returned to his side, he was moving a bit easier. She didn't need to help him into her car, but she did need to give him a few extra minutes to manage the task himself. 

Thoughts of Stiles' behaviour in school were driven from his mind as an ache in the back of his head took up most of his focus.

#####

Stiles pulled up to the animal clinic and parked his jeep. He inhaled slowly, and exhaled even more slowly. The pit of fear in his stomach when he'd seen John come home, moving stiffly and smelling faintly of blood and pavement, had faded away, but his stress and anger and _everything else_ was too much.

In his awkward way, Derek had helped. Putting his hands on his shoulders, scent-marking him more than usual, keeping his voice quiet and soft, Derek had done his best to ease Stiles through the night's events and the morning after all the excitement. But, he still had to go to school and face Scott---who completely forgot to tell him about his father, in all his Allison-shaped excitement---and he still had to sit through all of his classes. 

Erica and Boyd and Danny, surprisingly, managed to bolster his spirits at several points throughout the day. He had company for lunch, he was rescued from Harris' malevolent attentions, and he'd had reasons to smile. 

But, then he came home, and reality crashed down onto him. 

Derek wanted to sneak into the animal clinic after hours and look at the necropsy results. Stiles knew that would be a bad idea for a couple reasons: firstly, because Scott usually worked there until late, and secondly, because he knew there was an alarm system because Scott received calls when there were false alarms if Doctor Deaton was out of town. He didn't understand why it was important---they knew who was doing all the killing---but Derek explained it to him. 

_"We need to know what everyone else knows. We need to know if the rogue alpha chased the mountain lion out of the forest. If they chased it out when they weren't completely shifted, we might be able to get a clue---from their scent---that we can't when they're running around in their full form."_

Eventually, and reluctantly, Stiles had agreed to go to the clinic and try to talk to Scott's boss. Derek didn't feel comfortable going, and Stiles understood that; he at least spoke with Doctor Deaton a few times, so Stiles figured he might have a better chance of getting _any_ useful information from him. 

He just needed a few minutes to prepare himself. 

He also needed a plan. 

Unfortunately, Scott had other ideas. 

When he tapped on Stiles' window, Stiles absolutely did not yelp. Scott, of course, smiled his happy-go-lucky, ridiculous smile, like absolutely nothing was wrong; Stiles took satisfaction from the way his smile wilted when Stiles did nothing but glare at him. 

"What's wrong?" Scott asked. 

Stiles looked away long enough to mutter under his breath about Scott's obliviousness, and then he made his way out of the safety of his vehicle. 

"Hey, Scottie," Stiles said, his voice tight with his anger. "Is there something you forgot to tell me last night?" 

"You came here to ask me thaaaa---ohhh, crap." 

Stiles shook his head. "I'm actually here to do a bit of secret detective work, but this trip can have two missions," he said. He shoved his hand into Scott's shoulder with only a little force. "Dad told me you were supposed to tell me he was hurt!" 

"But, it's just a bruise, right? Some soft tissue damage? Nothin' that big," Scott protested. "I mean, I know I forgot, but Allison was upset and we're both pretty grounded because of---"

"If it was your mom, and I forgot to tell you, and then I told you 'no big deal,' how pissed would you be with me right now?" 

Scott's facial features crumpled into a more contrite expression. "Stiles. I'm sorry," he said. "Really." 

With his pulse sounding steady and his scent a little less vibrant, Scott seemed sincere. Stiles nodded and gestured towards the clinic. 

"Okay. So. Do you think Doc Deaton would answer a couple questions for me?" Stiles asked. 

"About?" 

"I, uh, well. About the mountain lion," he admitted. 

"Won't your dad get the autopsy results?" 

"Necropsy, and yeah, but I want to know for myself, straight from the source," Stiles said. 

Scott rolled his eyes. "You can ask, but I don't know if he'll tell you anything," he said. "County officials called earlier and he stonewalled them in that weird, quiet way he has when he doesn't want to talk." 

Stiles shrugged and started walking towards the front door. Scott caught up to him by the time he clasped the handle and tugged. After filing into the lobby, one after the other, Stiles spared a glance at the receptionist and then focused his attention on the weird tingle that was suddenly traveling along his nerves. 

"You wanna come back?" Scott asked. 

"Could you ask him to come out?" Stiles asked in reply. 

He wasn't sure what was causing the tingles, but he knew he wasn't going to like it. He wanted to stay where he was in case moving deeper into the building made it worse. 

Scott didn't understand, but he sighed and nodded and stepped through the gate and into the examination rooms. Stiles tried not to pace; the urge to move bested his restraint, though, so by the time Doctor Deaton appeared in the lobby, Stiles was moving from one side of the room to the other and back again. 

"Mister Stilinski," Deaton said. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" 

Stiles shrugged. "I, uh, have some questions about… last night's victim?" 

It was so quiet in the building that it was easy to hear the slight way Deaton's pulse picked up speed over every other sound and pulse in the room. He seemed calm on the outside, though, as if nothing were wrong or strange about Stiles' request. 

"Scott, why don't you go get started on the evening meals for our rescued kittens," Deaton said. "I'll send your friend through when we're done." 

"Sure, okay," Scott agreed. He waved to Stiles. "See you in a bit?"

Stiles nodded. "Yeah." 

Once Scott disappeared into the back rooms, Deaton opened the gate, did something with the hinge so it remained open, and gestured for Stiles to come through to join him. 

"I… can we talk about it out here?" 

Deaton smiled a bit. "I'd prefer not to, as it's sensitive information," he replied. "I promise you will be free to leave whenever you like." 

He tapped the gate. The wooden gate. Stiles looked at it, and then back at Deaton. 

Was it made from mountain ash? Did Deaton know he was a werewolf?! 

Stiles nodded and walked forward, towards Deaton. Deaton turned and headed into one of the smaller examination rooms. The temperature was much colder in the room…

…and when Stiles walked inside after Deaton, he realized why the room wasn't more comfortable like the lobby. 

"I've finished with the body," Deaton said when he closed the door behind them. "I suspect you want to see it." 

"Want is… not the word I'd use, Doc," Stiles replied. 

"Unfortunately, there isn't much I can tell you about this animal," Deaton said. "Teeth and claw patterns don't match the killings---which, I suspect, you already assumed---and he looks to have been in some sort of altercation with a… bigger animal." 

_Shit._

Derek might have been onto something with his theory. If Monster Mayhem sent the animal out where hunters or other prominent members of society were congregated, they could have meant for the mountain lion to be a false lead---or false clue. 

"How can you tell?" Stiles asked. 

"A couple of scratches, and what looks like a large scrape caused by a single fang or claw," Deaton said. "He was also running---either over extremely rough terrain or for an extended period of time---judging from the condition of the pads of his feet. It is unclear why a much larger predator didn't kill him more quickly." 

"Huh." 

"Indeed," Deaton agreed. "Do what you need to do, Mister Stilinski. I won't say a word to anyone." 

It definitely seemed like Deaton knew Stiles was no longer completely human. 

Without giving _too_ much away, Stiles took one step towards the dead feline body and inhaled. It didn't do much good, though. There were too many scents---blood, decomposition, a forest that wasn't the preserve, _burning_ , something that smelled like vanilla, of all things, and---

"Relax, Mister Stilinski," Deaton said, cutting into Stiles' thoughts. "Imagine sifting through each scent, letting the irrelevant pass you by until you find something of significance." 

Stiles wanted to ask how he'd recognise anything significant when it all seemed like useless information, but he decided to remain silent. He decided that weak plausible deniability was better than no plausible deniability and he kept his mouth shut. 

After the vanilla, he noticed a faint alcoholic odor that reminded him of the hand gel stations at the hospital---or of the time he broke one of them when his mom fell asleep mid-visit and he got bored. The next scent he identified was sharp and complex; it was like cologne, but natural, and he couldn't identify the individual components. 

He opened his eyes, pulled out his phone, and wrote a text for Derek--- _I smell burning, vanilla, something that reminds me of the hospital, and a musk. It's kind of hard to explain. And I think Doc knows what I am._

Deaton draped a sheet over the body. "Do you have any other questions for me?" he asked. 

Stiles shook his head. "I think that's it. Thanks, Doc." 

"Good luck, Mister Stilinski." 

After a quick, tight smile, Stiles moved towards the door. His phone buzzed in his hand. Looking at Derek's reply--- _Warm dirt, wet wood, and something weird? Are you safe?_ \---distracted him as he opened the door and crashed into his father. 

"Stiles, funny seeing you here," John said as he put his hands on Stiles' shoulders to steady him. "What are you doing?" 

"Dad! Hi! Um… interviewing Doctor Deaton about the mountain lion," Stiles said, thinking on his feet. "I'm thinking about starting a blog about all the crazy stuff happening in town." 

"That would be an interesting read," Deaton commented from behind him. 

"Riiight," John said. He looked from Stiles to Deaton. "Doc, would you mind answering a few of my questions now? I promise I won't keep you long." 

"Of course, Sheriff." 

"Can I stay?" Stiles asked. 

"Instead if you lurking outside with your ear pressed against the door?"

Stiles smiled and shrugged. John sighed, but there was a faint trace of a smile in his lips, so Stiles figured he wasn't in too much trouble. When John entered the room, Stiles turned around and followed him back inside. 

"What's on your mind, Sheriff?" Deaton asked.

"Listen, I hate to keep bothering you with this, but, uh, I'm having a bitch of a time with these cases," John said. 

Deaton nodded. After a quick glance at Stiles, he said, "I'm flattered you turn to me for help, but, like I said before, I'm no expert." 

"But you were pretty certain the last time, about our attacker being a mountain lion," John said. 

"That's right," Deaton replied. His eyes averted to Stiles, again, before he turned and gestured towards the mountain lion under the sheet. "I'm almost done. I've taken casts of his claws and teeth, and when they've set, I'll bring them to the forensics lab for comparison." 

John smiled a bit. "Thanks, Doc," he replied. He held up the folder in his hands. "I wanna show you something. We got a little lucky. The video store didn't have any cameras, but a security camera that was watching the parking lot happened to grab a few frames." 

He opened the folder and revealed a photo of a large, dark shape---Monster Mayhem, in all his terrifying glory---crashing through the video store window. 

"Take a look at our mountain lion," John said. He moved that photo so the one underneath it could be seen. Stiles gasped as he saw the rogue alpha approaching Lydia's car. "Here's another." 

Deaton looked from the photos to John and then to Stiles. "It's interesting," he said, his gaze locked on Stiles. 

"Actually, uh, this is the interesting one," John said before he revealed another photograph. 

Monster Mayhem was walking on his legs---on his two hind legs. 

Stiles would have started ranting about werewolf discretion if he were with Derek. Since he was with his father, he kept his lips pressed together so the words couldn't slip out and inspire John to think Stiles was losing his mind. 

"I see what you mean," Deaton said. 

"I've never seen a mountain lion do that," John commented. 

Deaton shook his head. "Can't say I have, either," he said. He looked at Stiles and added, "You've got a problem." 

"My first instinct was it was a bear, but bears don't walk on two legs," John said, unaware of Deaton's and Stiles' somewhat private and unrelated conversation. 

After dragging his gaze back to John, Deaton said, "No, they drop to all fours. Have you consulted with any wildlife experts?" 

John shook his head. "The Staties are pretty sure Argent shot the killer cat," he replied. "They're insisting I close the case." 

"And you think---" 

John held up the photos of Monster Mayhem. "I think this is out of my field of experience." 

"Mine, too, I'm afraid," Deaton said. "Perhaps you should consult with your son's blog when he begins posting content." 

John looked to Stiles, who was feeling a little tension from being under two serious and sharp gazes. After turning away, John nodded and smiled at Deaton. "Thanks for humouring me again, Doc," he said. "We'll let you get back to your day." 

"It's no problem, either of you," Deaton said. "A curious mind is a good thing." 

Within a few brief moments, John turned towards Stiles, grabbed his arm in his free hand, and dragged Stiles out of the room and across the lobby. 

"Dad, uh, hey, could you ease up or---" 

John didn't stop walking until they were outside, standing between their parked cars. When he released Stiles, he crossed his arms over his chest. 

"Talk, now." 

Stiles hoped there would come a day when he could tell his father the truth about his new life. He hated the way his heart clenched and seemed to sink down into his stomach, every time he had to fudge some details or completely lie to John's face. 

"I, um… I wanted to… be sure." 

"Of?" 

"That the mountain lion was the one who's been going around and killing---" 

"That's my job, Stiles. Your job is to go to school, play lacrosse, and hang out with your friends," John interrupted. "You do not investigate murders." 

"But---" 

"We had a deal. No field work." 

Stiles sighed. "I know. But, it wasn't about _her_ , just… I was worried. You were there, Dad. And… the idea of you getting hurt again…" 

John uncrossed his arms and put his hands on Stiles' shoulders. "We're okay, Stiles," he said in a softer voice. "You do your job and I'll do mine. You got it?" 

Stiles nodded. "Yeah. I got it." 

With a smile, John tugged Stiles in for a hug. He stepped back after a moment and held up his folder. "What do you think it is?" he asked. He smirked. "If you could pick any mythological creature. If that's the kind of crazy stuff you'd write in this fictional blog of yours." 

"Uh… skinwalker. Or a wendigo," Stiles said. On a whim, he grinned and said, "Hey, maybe it's a werewolf!" 

John laughed. "Yeah, I'll load up my second firearm with silver bullets, just in case," he said. "Go home, would ya? Procrastinate or watch a movie or something. Normal kid stuff." 

Stiles smiled. "Sure, Dad. See you for supper?" 

"Yeah, I'll be back early. I'm only supposed to be doing a half day today," John said. He pointed to Stiles' jeep. "Go home, Stiles. I'll see you later." 

After a sloppy salute, Stiles hopped into the driver's seat of his vehicle and jammed the key into the ignition. It started with only a little complaint, and since John was still waiting and watching him, Stiles had no choice but to back out of his parking space and start driving in the direction of home. 

He decided, as he watched John from the rearview mirror, that he might as well head home to talk with Derek. They had information---abstract in quality, but still information---about the alpha to discuss and Stiles had to ask Derek if he were giving off some sort of werewolf vibe that people in-the-know could easily recognise.

###

Stiles settled into his preferred seat in the library, without Erica and Boyd, and pulled out his chemistry textbook and a stack of sandwiches. John had left for work early, feeling better since his accident, and Stiles had packed a werewolf-sized lunch in an attempt to satisfy his growing appetite for a few hours.

He'd only gotten through three pages of reading and one sandwich when he caught Allison's scent---something cosmetic like soap or lotion, mixed with something spicy, and the _faintest_ trace of wolfsbane that joined the other aromas when Kate came to live with them---in his orbit. 

His senses were still a little unpredictable, coming and going as his control waxed and waned, but Derek told him that he'd learn how to deal with the enhancements. He hoped it happened sooner rather than later; with everything that was going on in Beacon Hills, he wanted to be at the top of his game so he could keep his pack safe, from both trigger-happy hunters and from Monster Mayhem. 

By the time Allison put her hand on Stiles' shoulder, he'd managed to put his werewolf-related thoughts aside so he could pretend he was a normal teenager struggling to study while eating a pile of sandwiches. 

And then he was looking straight into a pendant that had a wolf set straight in the middle of its silver surface. 

"Hey, Allison," Stiles said, managing to look away from the wolf so he could smile up at her face. 

She grinned back at him. "Where do you put all of that?" she asked, gesturing towards his lunch. 

Stiles snorted. "My belly! Where I'm running a lot more than I ever used to… I've been worried about getting enough calories," he replied. "Are you here to try to get a little work done while stuffing your face, too?" 

Allison huffed out a little laugh. "Yeah, I am. Do you might if I join you?" 

"Not at all. Pull up a chair," Stiles said, smiling back at her. 

He returned to his chemistry homework and brought his sandwich back up to his mouth for another bite. After a few minutes, he looked up at Allison and found that she was reading from a book that seemed to be either very old or very poorly treated. He was fully prepared to turn away and refocus his attention on his own work, but he caught sight of the title of the book--- _Les Bêtes Fantastiques: A History of Mythological Monsters in 17th and 18th Century France_ \---and his attention could not be moved. 

Allison must have sensed him staring, because she looked up from her book and smiled at him. 

He managed a smile in response. "Studying… cryptozoology?" he asked. 

"Huh?" 

"Mythological monsters?" Stiles said, pointing at the book's title. 

Her eyes widened in comprehension. "Oh! No. No, it's a… history project. I'm supposed to write a report on something in my family's history," she said. She held up the pendant hanging from her silver chain. "Kate---my aunt, I mean---she gave me this necklace and suggested our family was involved in the killing of this creature called _la bête de Gévaudan_. Any time I look it up, I'm referred to books like these." 

"Huh. Cool," Stiles said, trying for casual interest instead of anything that resembled intense curiosity or panic. "What have you found out so far?" 

"Well… accounts at the time say it was a quadruped, wolf-like monster," she said, setting down the book. "In a few years, it killed over a hundred people, so the king at the time sent his best hunters to try and kill it." 

Stiles nodded. "And one of your ancestors was one of those royal hunters?" 

With a shake of her head, Allison pointed at a paragraph on one of the exposed pages. "'It is believed that la Bete was finally trapped and killed by a renown hunter who claimed his wife and four children were the first to fall prey to the creature,'" she recited. Then, looked back at Stiles. "Some sources say his name was Argent." 

"Nifty," Stiles said. "So, does badassery still run in the family?" 

Allison stifled a laugh with her free hand. "I don't think so," she said. "Maybe with Kate and my parents, but I'm pretty much a marshmallow." 

Stiles smiled and hoped that would always be true. He never wanted her coming after him, the way Kate would. He never wanted to have to decide between his life and Allison's life; he couldn't even imagine making that decision. 

"What are the chances that the beast or whatever was just a pack of regular wolves?" Stiles asked. 

She shrugged. "I guess it could be, right? That'd make more sense than there being an actual monster," she conceded. With a smile and another shrug, she added, "Wouldn't it be cool, though? If mythological creatures are real? If there's actual magic in the world?" 

"Yeah… definitely," he agreed. "I mean, scarier. But cool, too. Maybe a little lonely, too. More dangerous." 

"What do you mean?" Allison asked. 

He set down his chemistry textbook and leaned forward. "Well, to be a part of this world… but not able to tell or show anyone who you really are. Always looking over your shoulder, so no one figures out you're different. Can you imagine what scientists would do with people or creatures that were _that_ different?" he said. "If people had special abilities, anyway. In X-Men comics, people who are different aren't always treated well." 

Allison narrowed her eyes. "Why do you think there would be people?" 

"Magic, right? I'm just assuming… witches, elves? Maybe vampires," Stiles said, covering his honesty with a bit of misdirection. 

"Werewolves?" Allison asked. 

Stiles shrugged. "If we have vampires in this hypothetical situation, we can have werewolves, too," he agreed. 

"Well, I get what you mean. It would be scary. If that person hasn't done anything wrong… yeah. They should be allowed to live. And it would be hard, never knowing who you can really trust," she said. She held up her book and turned the page, revealing an artist's depiction of the beast in the story. "This guy, though? He killed people. Lots of people." 

"Whoa." 

Stiles was looking at a large, hulking figure, similar to the shape of Monster Mayhem. He was broader, through his shoulders and his head, making his wolfish features less recognisable. 

"The big, bad wolf," Allison said, smiling at him over the top edge of the book. 

"Yeeeah." 

"I'll probably leave out the werewolf part in my report, though," she added. 

Stiles snorted. "Might be a good idea," he conceded. 

She turned the book back around and set it down against the table. Stiles could still see the monster artwork; above it, hung the wolf pendant from Allison's necklace. He swallowed, trying to help his suddenly dry throat, and his gaze drifted up to Allison's face. She seemed so sweet and easygoing, hard to reconcile as coming from a family of werewolf hunters, and Stiles didn't want to see her losing that to weaponry, hunting tactics, and the darkness that would come from killing werewolves. 

As Allison returned to her work, pulling out pieces of her lunch as she read her book, Stiles returned to his lunch and homework, too. They worked in a companionable silence, tucked away in their corner of the library; Stiles' work was interrupted a few times as his attention drifted back to that necklace, but, apart from that, he was able to get most of his work done. 

Stiles pulled out his phone before the bell could ring and interrupt their quiet time. There were no texts from Derek, so Stiles opened his phone's camera software and discretely snapped a picture of Allison's necklace. If Kate had given it to her, Stiles wondered if Kate had worn it. He wondered if it could be evidence against her, or a connection of some sort. He wondered if it could tell him anything about the Argent family… 

He also wondered if he was making too much out of a simple piece of jewelry, but he knew that his methods of research worked best when it wasn't too focused. Without another thought or worry, he added the photo to his cloud drive before deleting it from his phone.

#####

Derek hated visiting Peter. Not because he no longer loved his uncle, but because seeing those burn scars were a reminder of how stupid Derek had been. Stiles and John tried to convince him that he wasn't to blame for Kate's actions, but he knew Kate never would have been so effective if he hadn't unintentionally given her information about their comings and goings. Seeing Peter made it harder to believe he'd been targeted and abused; seeing Peter made him feel like he was the kid who killed his family, all over again.

But, he had to try. Peter had been their knowledge keeper. He'd acted like Talia's left hand---when he wasn't too busy scheming to achieve his own goals---and because of that role he'd known which of their closets contained the most secrets. If anyone knew who could be seeking revenge against people who hunted (or killed) werewolves in the area, it would be Peter… 

...if only he would wake up out of his mindlessness so they could communicate. 

Derek sat down next to Peter, careful not to nudge or roll the wheelchair in which he'd been placed, and he put his hand over Peter's hands where they rested in his lap. Peter's skin was warm; his pulse was strong. If Derek couldn't see the scars, he would have thought Peter was napping. 

"I… I need your help, Peter," Derek whispered. He cleared his throat. When he resumed speaking, his voice was a little louder. "If you can hear me, I need you to give me a sign." 

Peter remained motionless, staring off into space. 

"Blink. Raise a finger. Anything," Derek pleaded, squeezing Peter's hands. 

When Peter continued on in his non-responsive state, Derek sighed. "Just… just something to point me in the right direction, okay?" he insisted. "Someone killed Laura. Your niece. _Laura._ Whoever they are, they're an Alpha now. One without a pack. Which means they're not as strong. I might be able to take them---but I have to find them first. 

"Look, if you know something, just give me a sign," Derek said. "Is it one of us? Did someone else make it out of the fire?" 

Peter's lack of response made Derek's pulse race. His temper, fueled by grief and guilt, was so quick to rise to the surface. He'd gripped his uncle's shoulders before he was aware of leaping up from his seat. He gave Peter a shake, as if he could knock some awareness into Peter's mind. 

"Just give me anything. Blink. Raise a finger. Anything!" Derek demanded. "Say something!" 

"Let him go!" A nurse cried out from the doorway. Derek looked up and backed away; in his pain and frustration, he hadn't noticed that she'd come to the door of Peter's room. "You think after six years of this, yelling at him is going to get a response?" 

After rubbing a hand over his face, Derek gestured from her to Peter. "Got a better method?" 

"Patience," she said. She tucked a stray tendril of red hair behind her ear as she walked further into the room; when she was close enough, she placed a gentle hand on Peter's shoulder. "He'll respond if you give him the time." 

There was something about the way the nurse was looking at Peter that put him on edge. He could see loyalty shining there, in her eyes, but he could also see something _else_. He didn't know what it was; all he knew was that it made him uncomfortable. 

Derek pushed past her and moved towards the doorway. "I don't have any more time," he said before he left the room. 

He stormed out of the hospital, clenched fists jammed into the pockets of his leather jacket, and didn't stop marching until he reached his car. His anger and frustration weren't soothed away; instead, a piece of paper tucked under his windshield wiper distracted him from his dark thoughts. 

Once unfolded, he saw the report. It contained information about a dead deer, found before Laura had ever mentioned to him that she was thinking about returning to Beacon Hills. Normally, a dead deer wouldn't be important, but the markings on the corpse weren't natural. The spiral was easy to see, even in the greyscale of the image; Derek swallowed against his heart as it threatened to leap up into his mouth. 

That was the clue---the clue that convinced Laura to investigate. It had to be. She would have known what the spiral meant; she wouldn't have been able to ignore it. 

Would she have started with the hikers who found it? Or would she have gone to the veterinarian who… 

...conducted the necropsy? 

The same veterinarian who conducted the necropsy on the mountain lion. Doctor Alan Deaton, as the report indicated, was responsible for examining the deer; when nothing came of the investigation, he had also been tasked with disposing of the body. 

Derek reached for his phone. He called Stiles, listening to his phone ring and ring, until Stiles answered. 

_"Hey. Are you---"_

"The vet. What did he say to you?" Derek asked. 

_"Hello, Derek. How are you? Good… good. Oh! Thanks for asking---"_

"Stiles, the vet. Deaton. What did he say to you?" 

Stiles sighed in his ear. _"Um… nothing explicit. He made really vague hints,"_ he said. _"He tried to help me focus my senses. When I was trying to smell the alpha on the cougar."_

"Did he do anything weird?" 

_"Like that wasn't weird enough? What's this about?"_

Derek looked down at the piece of paper in his hand. "I think I found what made Laura want to come back," he said. "Someone left it on my windshield while I was visiting Peter." 

_"And Deaton…"_

"It was a dead deer with a spiral carved in its side," Derek told Stiles. "This article says he did the necropsy for this animal, too." 

_"Ah. Okay, so maybe he knows---"_

"Or maybe he's the alpha," Derek growled. 

_"Hold on,"_ Stiles said. _"If he is, why didn't he make a move on me earlier, then? There was no sniffing or bad touching or anything. And if he is, who gave you that article?"_

"I'm going to go find out---"

_"Come get me first."_

"Stiles---" 

_"If he is the alpha, you shouldn't face him alone,"_ Stiles argued. _"If he isn't the alpha, maybe he'll be more willing to talk if I'm there. Friendly-ish face or whatever."_

Derek sighed. He didn't want to admit that Stiles had made a good point when he insisted that Derek shouldn't face the alpha alone. He also didn't want to deliver Stiles to the alpha. He was sure Stiles' anchor---his father---was strong, but an alpha could have a strong will and the skill to exert it over those they'd bitten. 

"I'll be there in five minutes. Be ready." 

He ended the call before Stiles could respond.

#####

When Stiles hopped into the passenger side of Derek's idling car, he was hit with the scent of hospital.

"Man, that smell is everywhere," he complained. 

"What?" 

"The sterilizer gel smell," Stiles explained. "It was on the mountain lion, too." 

Derek frowned. "That's what you meant when you said there was something that reminded you of the hospital?" 

"Yeah," Stiles said, nodding. "Smelled like the gel everyone rubs on their hands." 

"Does the vet use it?" Derek asked. 

Stiles thought about his time there, with Deaton, and tried to remember the scents in the air besides those that belonged to the dead mountain lion. After a few moments of reflection, he said, "He smelled of something… natural. Like that leaf oil that's in liniment. Whatever it's called." 

Derek nodded and put the car into gear. As he drove through the residential neighbourhood, heading towards the outskirts of town where the clinic was located, he said, "You don't think he's the alpha, do you?" 

"I think he gets a kick out of being cryptic and all-knowing at the same time, making for a really creepy combination," Stiles replied. "But, that's probably it." 

"How does he know about you, then?" Derek asked. 

"Maybe he's something else," Stiles suggested. "I mean, there are other things, right?" 

"Yeah." 

"We'll have to have a conversation about that at a later date," Stiles said. 

Derek snorted. "Sure." 

"I'm serious!" Stiles exclaimed. "What if vampires come to Beacon Hills? Or sirens?" 

"Too warm for vampires, even this far north," Derek said, keeping his eyes trained on the road. "And sirens prefer coastal regions." 

Stiles turned his head and stared at Derek. The casual way he admitted that these creatures existed shocked him. He also couldn't tell if Derek was screwing with him---which shocked him even more. 

"Seriously?" 

"It's witches you have to watch out for," Derek said. "Anyone who can wield magic… they're not necessarily safe. Some are good. Some… well, it's a lot of power and temptation. Not everyone respects magical laws." 

"Magical laws?!" 

"Yeah, like balance," Derek said. 

"Are you messing with me?" Stiles asked. 

With another snort, Derek asked, "You're a werewolf. You can't imagine other creatures and beings exist?" 

"Well, yeah, but… vampires? Really?" 

"Really." 

"And sirens?" 

Derek winced and nodded. "Yeah, them, too." 

"And witches." 

"Witches, druids, mages… sorcerers, whatever they call themselves. Magic users," Derek said. 

"What else?" 

"Really? You wanna focus on this now?" Derek asked. 

Stiles shrugged. "Okay. Maybe the timing's a little off," he conceded. "But, we really are going to talk about all this later." 

"I can't wait," Derek muttered. 

Stiles kept his head turned, watching Derek as he drove them towards the animal clinic. He seemed more tense than usual, and Stiles wasn't sure what he could do to help that. He assumed some of Derek's mood had to do with the clue that had been left on his car's windshield; he also assumed some of Derek's mood was the result of visiting his uncle. But, even with those assumptions, Stiles didn't know how to even begin lightening the load on Derek's shoulders. 

When Derek parked the car outside Deaton's place of business, Stiles took a moment to look for Scott's bike (which was absent from the bike rack, thankfully) before he returned his attention to Derek. He seemed even more tense than he had when Stiles first got into the vehicle. 

Stiles had to try something. He knew Deaton's enigmatic personality would rub Derek the wrong way and he had to try to diffuse the blow-up---and there would be a blow-up, if Derek was pushed past annoyance on top of everything else he was feeling---before it could occur. He reached out and put his hand on Derek's arm to give him a gentle squeeze. 

"What?" Derek asked. 

"I'm trying to show support," Stiles said. 

"Why?" 

"Because we're pack, and I know you're worked up, and I also know going in there isn't gonna calm you down," Stiles explained. "Deaton's weird and cryptic. And there's mountain ash in there." 

"What?" 

"The gate, the counters," Stiles said. "I only noticed because the gate was closed and the barrier… buzzed." 

"It tingles," Derek agreed. "Like electricity." 

"Yeah." 

"Did the vet act hostile towards you?" Derek asked. 

Stiles shook his head. "No, just… pointed and vague, all at the same time." 

"Do you think he's the alpha?" 

"He didn't smell like the cat," Stiles replied. He sniffed, catching that medical gel scent again. "You smell more like the cat than he did." 

"I do?" 

Stiles shrugged. "That gel smell," he said. "I think it's someone at the hospital. The smell. Scott's mom always smells like the hospital---to my long-gone human nose---after a shift. I used to smell like the hospital after visiting Mom for hours." 

"You think?" 

Stiles nodded. 

"That would make sense," Derek conceded. "The news print-out was put on my car when I was there." 

"Do you remember any betas working there when you were a kid?" Stiles asked. 

"Maybe one of Satomi's pack, but they're… no. It wouldn't be one of them," Derek replied. 

"Satomi?" 

"She's… she was a friend of my mother's. She has a pack that lives outside of Beacon Hills but still inside the county," Derek said. He glanced at Stiles before turning away again. "She's a bitten wolf. Remarkable control. Her pack… they're mostly Buddhist. Very restrained. Even the youngest or newest. They're not fighters---they're more likely to run if there's trouble." 

"Is that why you and Laura didn't stay with them?" 

Derek shrugged. "Yeah, mostly," he replied. "And Mom… she had a close friend on the other side of the country. Upstate New York. She always told us if we were in trouble, we should go to him." 

"Another alpha?" 

"Jeremy. Yeah. His pack is small but strong. Very strong," Derek said. He fiddled with his car keys as a small smile curved his lips. "Their property is a big house surrounded by acres and acres of forest. Reminded me of home. We could run almost any time we wanted, day or night." 

Stiles smiled. "You liked it there?" 

Derek nodded. "Jeremy was good to us." 

"I'm glad you had a safe place," Stiles said. 

After another nod, Derek gestured towards the building in front of them. "You want to handle this alone?" he asked. 

"I think we should both go," Stiles said. Derek seemed less tense, less on the edge of his darker emotions. Engaging his mind, including his memories, appeared to have distracted Derek from his frustration. He smiled. "One person to ask questions, another to listen, right?" 

"You're sure?" Derek asked. 

"Yeah. Unless you wanna stay under cover?" 

Derek snorted. "If he knows about our kind, he probably knows about my family," he said. "I'd rather go in there and help make sure we both get out again." 

They climbed out of the car and headed towards the front door. Before they could go inside, Derek put his hand on Stiles' shoulder and squeezed gently. 

"Thanks." 

"For what?" 

Derek rolled his eyes. "Don't make me say it." 

Stiles grinned. "But, I like hearing you tell me how awesome I am." 

"How would you know?" Derek shot back. 

On a little snort of laughter, Stiles shoved his elbow back into Derek's ribs. "Watch it, buster, I am awesome and you know it---and I can tell when you're lying," he said. 

Derek's chuckle followed him as he walked into the veterinary clinic, but it died as soon as he and Stiles were faced with Doctor Deaton. 

The man appeared at the counter, smiling as if he expected them to visit. Stiles thought he seemed calm---some of that weird, enigmatic charm Deaton possessed---but the more he used his senses, the more he realised it was all an act. Deaton's heart was skipping at a rate that was too quick to be relaxed; his skin had a slight sour tinge under the scent of his medicinal herbs that Stiles' instincts labeled as anxiety. On top of that evidence, though, Deaton seemed as cool as a cryptic cucumber could be. 

"Can I help you?"

"Hope so," Derek said. 

"Yeah, Doc… I… I mean, we… we have some questions for you," Stiles said. He deliberately kept his voice soft and his body language passive; Derek was going to be the rude cop in their interrogation so Stiles had to be the polite cop. "Do you mind?" 

Deaton smiled. "Depends on what the questions are, Mister Stilinski." 

"Right." 

"We want to know about the animal you found with the spiral on its side," Derek said. 

"Excuse me? What animal?" 

Stiles snatched the paper out of Derek's hand and unfolded it. He spared a moment to glance over the photo and information, before he held it out for Deaton to see. 

"Three months ago, you found a deer in the woods," Stiles said. "It had a spiral cut into its side? Or maybe just his fur---it's hard to tell in this picture. Does this look familiar, Doc?" 

Deaton didn't take a step towards either of them, but he did lean closer so he could see the picture. He nodded. 

"Oh, yes. It's just a deer," Deaton said. He shrugged. "And, I didn't find it. They called me because they wanted to know if I'd ever seen anything like it." 

"What'd you tell 'em?" Derek asked. 

Deaton looked from Stiles to Derek. "I told them no." 

Stiles shared a look with Derek, since he couldn't say what he wanted to say, and he was relieved to see disbelief on Derek's face. He didn't know why Deaton was lying, but Deaton _was_ lying. 

Derek nodded. Stiles took the gesture to mean he was permitted to continue with his questions; he turned his focus back to Deaton and tried to figure out what step to take in his quest for answers. 

"Doc, I think you know something… not-good is happening," Stiles said. He tucked the paper into his back pocket. "We're trying to figure out who's behind it, so we can stop them---" 

"Isn't that a job for the police?" Deaton interrupted. 

Stiles knew he was sending out an epic bitch face into Deaton's direction, but he didn't bother trying to smother it. Deaton pretending to be clueless, after everything he'd said and done when Stiles came to look at the dead mountain lion, was a little much for Stiles to swallow. 

"The last thing I need is Dad trying to arrest Monster Mayhem," Stiles commented. 

"Who?" 

Stiles snorted. "Y'know, the big bad running around?" 

"I don't think I know what you mean," Deaton said. 

"Really?" Stiles asked. "You think that was a bear that Dad showed you?" 

"I don't know what that was," Deaton said. 

Stiles lost the battle against his eyes' desire to roll. He almost gave himself whiplash with the force his eyes used to express his disbelief. 

"Are you protecting someone?" Derek asked. 

"Right now, I'm trying to protect myself," Deaton said. He turned a hard gaze onto Stiles. "I don't know what you think is happening here, but I have nothing to do with that animal who is killing people." 

"I know. Scott thinks you're great—and sure, his barometre for 'great' is a lot freer than mine, but I trust his judgement here, about you," Stiles said. "All that aside, do you know something that can help us? We want to put a stop to this. Anything you can tell us would help." 

Deaton turned away from them. He started sorting through what looked like patient charts, setting a few aside and leaving one on the counter. When he turned to one of the filing cabinets, Stiles turned to Derek and raised his eyebrows; he got a pair of raised eyebrows in response, and Stiles took that to mean that Derek had no idea what was happening, either. 

Because he had a multi-track and very curious mind, Stiles leaned forward and read the label on the file Deaton had left on the counter. _Wolfette/Peter Hollet_ was written in someone's very tidy hand. Stiles had had about three seconds' worth of mental laughter over the pet named Wolfette before the owner's name settled into his mind and triggered memories of thoughts he'd had since Derek told him more about his family. 

Stiles tugged at Derek's sleeve and pointed at the label. Derek never got a chance to look at it, though, because Deaton returned to his previous position and snatched up the file. 

When Deaton put Wolfette's file in a rack on the receptionist's desk, he looked at them. There was no trace of _I've given you an important clue_ on Deaton's face; there was nothing that told Stiles that he'd left that particular file in front of him on purpose. His heart wasn't beating at its usual pace, but it wasn't particularly fast anymore, either, so Stiles didn't know what to think about their situation. All he could do was try to ask another question. 

Stiles tried to think quickly. Deaton wasn't a bad guy. He didn't have a criminal record, he didn't drive recklessly; he volunteered his time and supplies at the local animal shelter when he wasn't working. He lived a quiet and peaceful life. He hadn't shown any hostility towards Stiles---even if his cryptic behaviour was getting on Stiles' nerves. Stiles doubted that he'd align with Monster Mayhem. He also doubted that he was Monster Mayhem, unless alpha werewolves could manipulate mountain ash. 

But, Stiles sensed that Deaton knew _something._

"I'm guessing… you have an idea of what's going on and you don't want to be involved?" Stiles asked. 

"I am not a hunter," Deaton said. "Rabid animals are not my area of expertise, Mister Stilinski." 

"But, you're a vet!" 

Deaton snorted. "Hunting rabid animals is not my area of expertise, then," he amended. 

"So you're not working with the hunters," Stiles said. 

Deaton shook his head. "I have never seen the point to such murderous behaviour," he replied. "For example, a wolf pack is a responsible entity. A pack's members have shown signs of maintaining law and order in their territory. They are quite capable of dealing with a threat, generally in a much more humane manner than human hunters ever would." 

"But you can't tell us anything about this particular threat," Derek muttered. 

"I have faith, that if you are your mother's son, you will come to the correct conclusion after some _serious_ contemplation," Deaton said. 

Derek flinched, as if he'd been slapped, and Stiles put his hand on Derek's arm to steady him. 

"You knew Talia?" Stiles asked. 

"I knew her well," Deaton admitted. 

"Then why aren't you helping us?" Stiles demanded, barely keeping his frustration out of his voice. 

"I am more concerned with returning the area to a balanced state," Deaton said. "It has been unbalanced since before the fire, and the actions of one being are not my concern when much larger issues exist." 

After a snort, Derek pulled his arm free of Stiles' easy grip and moved towards the exit. Stiles sighed. He tracked Derek until he saw him climb into the driver's seat of his car; then, he turned back to Deaton. 

Stiles shook his head. "People are going to die and because they have nothing to do with the big picture---" 

"I didn't say they have nothing to do with the big picture, Mister Stilinski." 

"How does Laura's death have anything to do with balance?" Stiles shot back. He waved his hands around. "She was a victim, too. She lost her family, she was trying to do the right thing, and she gets killed for her trouble. She should be here. I don't care what happens to a bunch of arsonistic shitheads, but Laura? There was no reason for her death." 

"Balance is difficult to understand or decipher," Deaton said. "But, her death is a part of the larger picture. If the killer had not taken the power he needs---" 

"You want there to be more attacks?" Stiles interrupted. 

Deaton shrugged. "I want there to be balance in the universe."

There was so much Deaton seemed to be saying, between what he wasn't saying, and Stiles' head swam in all the possibilities he needed to sort through to determine what _exactly_ Deaton was telling him. 

"You sure act like you're a True Neutral, but I see some Chaos in you, Doc," Stiles muttered. He ran a hand over the top of his head. "Thanks for being completely vague and unclear. I'll let you get back to your work." 

Stiles turned and walked along the path Derek had taken when he'd exited the building. Before he could open the door, though, Deaton called his name. He turned back, trying to keep his expression calm and clear. 

"You should be careful," Deaton said. "You've been ignoring his calls to action---the rite of passage he thinks will bond you together. Eventually, he will attempt to force you to join him." 

"I won't. Ever." 

"He may not give you that choice," Deaton replied. 

There was nothing Stiles could say in response to that. His instinct was to fight against anything Monster Mayhem wanted him to do; but, he knew there were ways the rogue alpha could force his participation. He hoped his situation never came to that, having his father's, Derek's or Scott's life threatened to earn Stiles' compliance, because he was fairly certain he'd sacrifice himself and he knew that wouldn't save those about whom he cared. 

He nodded and continued exiting the clinic. 

When he hopped into Derek's car, Derek looked at him. "You okay?" he asked. 

Stiles smiled a little. "I was going to ask you the same thing." 

"That man makes me very uncomfortable," Derek admitted. 

"Right there with ya," Stiles muttered in agreement. "You wanna go get burgers or something?" 

Derek shook his head. "Let's pick up pizza. We can go back to your house and talk through everything." 

"Try to make sense of the crazy talk?" 

"Yeah." 

Stiles agreed by pulling out his phone and placing an order for three pizzas. Derek drove towards the restaurant, his hands clenching and unclenching around the steering wheel, and he remained silent. Stiles did, too, because his head was full of information, a lack of information, and his own theories. He wasn't sure what he'd say and he wanted time to puzzle over it all before sharing his thoughts with Derek. 

"He was right about the alpha," Derek said, breaking the silence. "When he said the alpha wants you to join him. The rite of passage. In our pack, it was hunting a deer. When we could show control, we could run with the pack elders and help take down a deer. If the rogue alpha wants you to join them---" 

"Deaton suggested it's a 'he.'" 

"Did he? Or is he just assuming?" Derek challenged. 

Stiles nodded, conceding Derek's point. 

"You should be careful," Derek said, his voice quiet. "I'll try to keep an eye on your dad, keep him out of the line of fire as much as I can." 

"Thanks," Stiles whispered. 

"And if the alpha forces you out, you fight until I can get to you," Derek said. He put his hand on Stiles' shoulder. "You hear me?" 

Warmed by Derek's words, Stiles smiled a little as he met Derek's eyes. "I hear you," he murmured.

#####

John sat at the kitchen table, looking over his evidence from the last few animal attacks and his notes from the last few days of investigating. A glass of scotch sat at his right hand, but he rarely reached for it; his focus was on the papers and photographs in front of him and was far from the notion of getting drunk because he wanted to _understand._

At first, he thought Stiles was only involved because Derek's sister had been one of the victims, but the more he observed their interactions and the more he overheard being discussed in his own house, he was beginning to realise Stiles and Derek were both directly involved in whatever was happening in his community. 

Concern about Stiles spending time with Derek spiked the first time John heard the word "werewolf" mentioned in casual conversation between his son and their guest. It wasn't normal, it wasn't sensible, and it seemed like Stiles was _actually_ in danger. 

He'd invited Derek into their home, and Derek was leading Stiles down a dangerous path of insanity and---

_No._

Eventually, even though nothing made sense, John returned to his senses. Derek had never seemed unstable. His gut instincts said that Derek wasn't a danger to Stiles---that he'd made the right choice in giving Derek a place to recover and rest. 

But, his gut instincts also told John that something else was going on in Beacon Hills, too, and that Stiles and Derek were intimately involved with whatever that something else was. 

He needed to know what was happening. He needed to be able to protect his son. 

The front door opened. John could hear Stiles stumbling to the shoe rack; he could hear Derek's steady stride behind him. He could also hear them talking. 

"Deaton knows more than he's letting on," Stiles said. "And I don't think it was coincidence he put that file on the counter---" 

"The rogue alpha isn't Peter!" Derek exclaimed. "He's practically a shell. His burns might be healing, but---" 

"What if his wolfy instincts are taking over?" Stiles said, apparently taking his turn to interrupt. "I smelled the mountain lion. Hospital gel was on him. Nurses would use that and handle him, right? Would they use it on him, too? And the note was placed on your car." 

"I was with him the whole time." 

Stiles sighed. "Yeah, but what if I'm not the first person he's bitten?" 

John frowned. 

Stiles had been bitten? By a person? And, when? 

How on earth had he smelled gel from the hospital on the dead cougar, when Doctor Deaton had told him the only trace evidence had been of the forest and of the bullet? 

"Stiles." 

"Yeah?" 

"Your dad's here," Derek said, his voice quiet. 

"Oh." 

John waited until Derek and Stiles appeared in the door to the kitchen, before he stood up and crossed his arms across his chest. He wasn't going to let either of them get away with brushing off what he'd overheard them saying; he was going to get answers from them in the next few minutes. 

Stiles' facial expression was somewhere between _oh crap, I'm busted_ and _how do I talk my way out this?_ , and Derek seemed very tense and nervous. When Derek tried to step in front of Stiles, as if to protect him, Stiles put a hand on his arm and walked into the room. 

"Hey, Daddio, whatcha doin?" 

"Just… trying to put some puzzle pieces together," John replied. He gestured towards Derek and his arms full of pizza boxes. "Why don't you set those down, son, and get us some plates? Stiles, pour some drinks? I have a feeling we're going to be at this for a while." 

John would have laughed at the perplexed expressions on Stiles' and Derek's faces if he hadn't been so determined to get to the bottom of whatever madness they were trying to hide from him. He watched them share some sort of wordless conversation, before Stiles turned his gaze to John; whatever he saw there seemed acceptable, because Stiles was the first to spring into action. With a nod, Stiles moved to the cupboard and took down a few glasses. Derek set down the pizzas, the scent of greasy deliciousness wafting up from the boxes, and went to another cupboard for plates. 

When everyone was settled around the kitchen table, John cleared his throat. 

"I want you two to explain _everything_ to me," he said. "I've heard you both say things like 'werewolf' and 'pack' and 'rogue alpha,' and before I decide to have you both committed on a seventy-two hour hold, I want to hear why you are using this ridiculous language. I also want to know how it all relates to the fire and to what's happening now." 

Stiles' eyes widened. Derek looked down at the floor. 

John leaned forward. "I am not joking around here, boys. You will tell me the truth---all of it---tonight." 

When Derek lifted his head, he met Stiles' eyes. He nodded. Stiles, in contrast, closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. He looked like he was preparing for battle---and John did not understand why the truth should be so hard to share. 

When Stiles and Derek started talking, though, John wondered if he would _ever_ understand.


End file.
